Born For Bad Luck
by Peanutbutter1
Summary: Rogue has an encounter with someone she thought was dead. Good or bad meeting him will change the course of her life. There is some St. John, a little Rogue, and some Cajun Spice with Remy LeBeau. R&R Rated M for later stuff
1. Call it Stormy Monday

**Disclaimer**: I don't own a thing

**Title**: Born for Bad Luck

**By: Peanutbutter**

_Boys I'm most done travellin', Lord I'm at my journey's end_ _B'lieve I'm most done travellin', Lord at my journey's end_ _Well I been lookin' for me a good partner, bad luck is my best friend..._ (_Born for Bad Luck_ song by Brownie McGhee) 

**Chapter 1**: "Call it Stormy Monday"

_They call it stormy Moday, but Tuesday's just as bad_ _They call it stormy Moday, but Tuesday's just as bad_ _Wednesday's worse, and Thursday's also sad..._ (_Call it Stormy Monday_ song by: T-Bone Walker) 

**Notes**: This is a working title. I just wanted to know how well this would be received, or even if it would be at all. Tell me what you think. It's a little short, but it's only the beginning so give me some feedback.

All she could think was that her coffee was gone and her blueberry muffin was ruined. The fact that the building she had been idly walking next to had exploded in a ball of flames seemed obsolete. Her coffee flew out of her hand and splattered across the pavement, the cup was smashed against building across the street. Her muffin was in the air. She caught sight of it flying, and wondered how far it would go before everything rushed back into the real world with lightening speed. Her back smashed against a parked car knocking her breath out, and banging her head against the glass window. She slid to the ground, her head swimming and her entire body aching.

"Shit!"

Rogue knew she should be saying that, maybe, god, who was that. She shook her head trying to clear it, but all it did was make her vision worse and the ache in her body intensified.

"Maw muffin," she mumbled slowly her eyes searching the blur of color for her lost breakfast.

"There was nobody here! The damn street was abandoned, shit!"

There was somebody standing in front of her. It must be the man talking to her. She couldn't see his face, but maybe he'd seen her coffee. "Double tall, mocha chino, hot." She mumbled as the man blurred into two people and then back to one again.

"You're really out of it aren't you."

Somebody was picking her up. She wondered idly if she was flying again. She liked to fly, Warren used to take her to fly. Was it Warren holding her. She narrowed her eyes but nothing cooperated.

"I've got you Marie."

Rogue wanted to struggle when the man said her real name. Nobody knew it, nobody. Her limbs were too heavy and her eyes, she blinked, she was tired. Just as blankness rushed over her she saw a wall of fire.

Rogue felt like she'd just been through twelve danger room sessions in a row. She didn't remember even having a danger room practice. She groaned her hand flying to her head. It was bandaged. That explained the splitting headache and her lack of memory. The bigger question was where was she. Her focus slowly came as eyes adjusted to the room and she forced herself into a sitting position. She wasn't at the mansion, this wasn't her apartment. She'd never been here before. It was a small. She was on the fold out couch in the middle of the living room. There was a kitchen directly in front of her to her left was a pile of clothes and there were only two doors. There was no other furniture beside the couch and a table in the kitchen surrounded by three chairs.

She assumed one of the doors was the exit the other the bathroom, or maybe another room, but she doubted it. The clothes were male. So whoever the place belong to was a guy. She racked her brain for who it could be, but came up blank each time.

"So you're up."

Rogue whipped toward the voice immediately regretting the action at a splitting pain ran through her head. "Gawd it hurts."

"Yeah, sorry about that."

Rogue cracked on eye opened. She knew that voice. She knew it, but he was dead. He was taller, his hair longer his face more chiseled at the jaw but it was. He was smoking his other hand playing with his lighter. Bobby had killed him three year ago at Alcatraz. St. John died for the wrong cause. He wasn't supposed to still be alive.

"Ah thought you were dead."

He snorted and smirked, so John. "Die on that rock, I don't think so. Everybody was always underestimating me."

"But," she paused she didn't know how to say it without sounding cruel. "Bobby, he, he told me..."

"That he killed me?" John didn't sound as bitter as she thought he would. "He tried." He held up his hand three of the fingers on his right hand, the hand he'd used to make fire birds and horses made of flames dance were blackened like charcoal. "Frost bite. The bastard froze my flame and damn near took my arm off in the process. Never did like Xavier's but I can saw one thing for them, made Bobby strong as hell. I should have stayed for at least that."

Rogue stared unable to pull her eyes from it. It must have hurt. He had deserved it, but she couldn't help feeling sorry for him.

"Quit you're sympathy, they don't hurt. Ever seen Mr. Deeds? You can crush them with a hammer if you want. I won't feel a thing." He curled his fingers into a fist and shoved it in his pocket.

John, John was alive and she was in his apartment. "Why am Ah here? What happened?"

"Little bit my fault," John confessed. "The streets were supposed to be abandoned, and I was," he let the corner of his mouth sneak upward, "I was having a little fun."

Rogue narrowed her eyes. "Ya blew up that old building, and caught meh in the explosion!" She started to yell but the force of her own voice drove her back against the couch bed and hand on her head.

"In my defense it was two o'clock."

"Ah'm afraid to ask."

John quirked a brow as he moved into the kitchen and turned on the tap. He filled a glass of water and grabbed a bottle of pills. Rogue closed her eyes trying to avoid his movement. She only opened them when a glass of water tapped her arm. John was sitting at the foot of the bed looking at her. She grimaced and took the water and the Advil.

"I've been watching. I mean I watched this building and that street for like two weeks. Between eight and twelve theres a lot of traffic, mostly people coming from Starbucks."

Rogue bit her tongue to keep from screaming. She tried to tell herself it was only going to make her head hurt worse.

"One and two are pretty empty and two to four is dead, so I figured I picked the right time. You were the only person to walk down that street at two o'clock in five days." He stated and reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes.

"Don't tell me you were blowing that building up for no reason. I know you, you're crazy, but you always have a reason, no matter how twisted."

John inhaled and nodded. He was smiling, and odd cynical smile that didn't reach his eyes. "You knew me, at one time. I wouldn't say you knew me so well anymore."

Rogue watched him flick the ashes on the floor. "So ya killed my coffee, muffin, and nearly meh for kicks?"

"Some jump out of planes, I blow stuff up." He grinned and widened his eyes, "Fire pretty."

"You're demented."

"You've already said that."

"No, Ah said you were twisted, demented is a whole other level."

"Seems like a better one."

Rogue turned away from him unsure of what to say. She wanted to launch into a series of questions, but her head was still pounding. Not to mention she wasn't quite sure she would like the answers. John had already proved himself to be untrustworthy.

"Didn't you get the cure or something?"

Rouge was so surprised by the question that she turned too fast. Sharp pain rushed across my forehead and a wave of nausea settled in her stomach and threatened to empty it. Rogue swallowed, grateful she'd missed breakfast.

"You okay?"

Rogue grimaced, fighting the urge to yell at John again. He'd blown her up and know she was going to throw up. She hated throwing up. She kept her mouth closed for two reasons one she'd already established, at least in her book, that this was all his fault. There was no reason to go there again. Second, she didn't think it would be good for his mattress for her to open her mouth. A sour film covered her throat and filled her mouth with spit. Rogue glanced to the side as the mattress shifted and John jumped to his feet.

"Are you gonna puke?"

Rogue narrowed her eyes and raised her brow, turning her best glare on the firebug, but it was all moot. She felt terrible. Rogue put her hand over her mouth and mumbled under breath.

His reaction was immediate and a little self absorbed. "God, not on my bed!" He shouted.

His voice was like a spike in her ears. He grabbed my Rogue's arm and hauled her to my feet. The abrupt movement was too much. She would have told him that it wasn't helping but she was trying to keep her mouth closed. Pulling her off the bed was the equivalent of hanging her upside down and shaking.

As soon as her socked feet hit the floor she skidded. John released her arm and she fell to her knees. Rogue gasped her hands flying in front of her to break her fall. Her palm hit the cold floor before her face did, but she felt her entire body lurch unnaturally with the movement and she the lost the battle. It hit the floor with a splash, bit of food from the night before settling on the tops of John's shoes. He cried out and jumped backward.

Things were blurring and Rogue wanted to tell him she was sorry, but she couldn't speak. It was too hard to breath and darkness was rushing back on her. She gasped her throat burning with bile. Her eyes watered as she opened and shut them a few tears streaming down her reddened cheeks.

"Rogue, god, Rogue?"

"Dis a little early ta be drunk, non?"

Rogue turned toward the new voice but everything was already too black to make out who it was. Vaguely, she hoped she wouldn't collapse into her own vomit, but with the way everything was already going she was sure she was landing face first.

**That's the end, well until the next chapter, but tell me what you think. So there's a little John, Some Rogue, and just cuz I love him some Remy LeBeau coming up.**


	2. Double Trouble

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing

**Title:** Born For Bad Luck

**By:** Peanutbutter

"_Boys I'm most done travellin', Lord I'm at my journey's end_

_B'lieve I'm most done travellin', Lord at my journey's end_

_Well I been lookin' for me a good partner, bad luck is my best friend..."_

(_Born for Bad Luck_ song by Brownie McGhee)

**Chapter 2:** **Double Trouble**

"_Yes I got double trouble_

_What am I gonna do now?"_

(_Double Trouble_ song by: Brownie McGhee)

**Note**: Thanks for the reviews. Also sorry about that first person typo in the first chapter. I fixed it. I didn't realize I had posted that particular version. I'll be more careful in the future. I hope you guys like this chapter. **Also I couldn't get my breaks between POV to stick so I just made the first two words of the new POV Bold. Hope that works.**

**John caught** her just shy was landing in her own vomit. He must have shaken her too much in his haste to get her off his bed. He told himself he was justified, even though he'd made her throw up with his rough handling. He only had one bed, and at the moment he'd spent the last of him money on that _fancy _downtown explosion. He had no money for the laundry mat. Given, it was his fault she was passed out he'd forgive her for the floor. He looked at his feet and grimaced, and his shoes.

"Dis a bad time?"

John looked up and narrowed his eyes at Remy. Even if he told the Cajun it was a bad time he wouldn't leave. He was already leaning against the kitchen counter shuffling his cards. He always acted as if everywhere was his personal space, whether he was welcome or not. He raised a brow and smirked. _Cocky bastard_ John thought silently.

John turned away. Theres no use explaining Rogue. Remy was just convinced everyone was as big of a skank as he was. Even though Rogue was all dead weight she wasn't as heavy as he thought she would. As gently as he could he lifted her by the armpits and tossed her as gently as possible toward the couch bed. She landed with a soft 'whomp' her feet dangling off the edge of the bed. Ignoring the slap of Remy's card John toed off his shoes and headed for Rogue's side. Grabbing her arms, he pulled her toward the top of the bed and let her head rest on a pillow. His fingers lingered near her head for a moment and he smoothed her hair. He'd really screwed up this time. She was going to need a doctor.

"Dat de result of a good night, or a bad one?"

John doesn't need to look at Remy to know he was smirking again. His smug ass, shuffling his cards like he knows just what he's talking about. Will it be this funny when he knows that she's an X-man, or that she was? That was a question he was planning on asking her before the projectile vomiting.

"How about you stop posing and help me clean this up," John called.

"Dat not my problem," Remy hopped onto the counter and knocked the heel of his boots against the cabinet doors. He was full of helpful snark but not real helpful when it mattered.

"Just get me a towel, alright, I don't want to move that much and..." John trailed off and was suddenly glad he wasn't squeamish about this stuff, "I'm pretty sure if I move too much I'll track it all over the house."

Remy hopped off the counter and pocketed his cards. John could at least be thankful for that. Remy stepped into the bathroom and started going threw some drawers. John couldn't see him through the dim light, but he knew the Cajun was up to something.

"Listen, you know where the towels are, quit going through my stuff, you damn klepto." There was a growl from the bathroom and John had to grin. It was too easy to goad the Cajun. He was a thief, self proclaimed even, but he still got jittery when he was called on it.

The towel hit him in the side of the head and he would have been more pissed about it, but he Remy was actually helping apposed to his laughing earlier. There went his plan to save money on the laundry. He only had two towels. Just as he was bending down to get to work something wet, and cold smacked into the side of his face. It stuck for a moment before falling onto his shoulder. John clenched his teeth. His fingers went to the lighter in his pocket and he was only his feet without a second thought.

"You want to fight, Cajun, I've really got all the time in world."

"For de fille," he said, still smirking, "you put it on her neck while she passed out. Also you might want to turn her on her side, in case she loses it again."

John forced this thumb off the starter of his zippo and pocketed it. The bastard might be right but damned if he was going to admit it, or even mention that it worried him that she might get sick again. Remy like being emotionally superior, or at least pretending to be, but John had seen him loose his cool enough to know he was just as explosive as John was. He identified with that. When he got pissed he blew things up, and hell sometimes Remy did too, even if it wasn't on purpose.

"Make yourself useful," John yelled back and tossed the cloth at Remy. He hoped to hit the man in the face. The thief caught it effortlessly and stepped toward Rogue's lifeless form. John was surprised he didn't protest, but Remy really didn't have any qualms when it came to women.

The first wipe across the floor got most of the mess. It was mostly bile, he guessed, very little food, mostly liquid, frothy and yellow. John forced back his gag reflex and closed his eyes as he got to his feet. All he needed to do was get sick in front of Remy.

"Dis girl got on a lot of clothes for de summer."  
The Cajun's words rolled off his back like water off a duck. He was too busy trying to control himself to bother with what was being said.

"Dis girl got gloves, and long sleeves. She look like it's cold outside."

John swallowed and headed for the bathroom. Half way there he redirected himself toward the kitchen. He frowned as he opened the trash can lid and dropped the towel in. This way he saved on the laundry even if he was out his only other towel. Beside there was no way he was putting anything he wore into a washer full of a puke covered towel. "What are you doing here anyway. We're not supposed to meet until later." John asked when he turned around, hoping he'd remember to take the trash out before tomorrow, or better yet convince Remy to do it for him. The later wasn't likely.

Remy was still looking at the girl his hand holding the cloth to the back of her neck. He was starting at her and John was slightly worried that he couldn't see the man's left arm very well. For all I knew the Cajun was feeling Rogue up while she was passed out. He started to tell Remy to back away from her when what Remy had been saying finally sunk in. With the fainting and the vomiting he'd forgotten the question that had led to the entire ordeal. She'd gotten the cure. He'd seen her in the line. Why was she wearing so many clothes, gloves...

His mouth refused to work as he watched Remy push her onto her side. Her hair was covering her cheek he brushed it aside. The tips of his fingers made contact with her skin. He jerked, like he'd been shocked, and damn him he didn't pull away. There was panic in his red on black eyes, something John had rarely seen before. The next second he was out like a light. He hit the edge of the bed before falling face first to the floor. He landed with a thud and didn't move. Dammit, John cursed inwardly his day was getting worse and worse.

This was bad. The fact that he'd nearly blown Rogue up was bad. Her being in his apartment was bad. Remy knowing about it was worse, and still worse than that was the two of them touching.

"Dammit!" John whirled around kicked the kitchen chair. It slammed against the counter the leg breaking off. He cursed again. He knew how Rogue's powers worked, he knew all too well that she not only absorbed powers but memories as well. There was a lot of stuff swimming around in that Cajun's head but one thing in particular was worrying him. If she found out, if she knew just a fraction of what he feared they were doomed. The both of them.

"Shit, shit, shit!" John plopped onto the floor and dragged his cigarettes out of his pocket again. He had nearly half a pack but he didn't know if they'd last long enough. His fingers shaking slightly he lit up. The first draw was calming, the second was better. He had a long wait ahead of him. His right arm occupied with the cigarette he flipped his lighter on and off with his left. 'Damn Starbucks, and their blueberry muffins' he thought idly. It was all their fault.

**Mardi Gras** was in full swing. Unfortunately he wasn't in New Orleans, and he was pretty sure the pounding was all in his head. He winced and got to his feet. His face was killing him. Groaning, he felt his cheek. There was a swollen spot on his cheek bone. He'd hit something pretty hard.

"So you're finally awake. I was wondering who was going to be the first one up."

Remy turned, his vision was still a little hazy, like a fuzzy film over a clear picture. He blinked. John was sitting a few feet away, his back to his counter top. He was smoking. That wasn't so unusual, but the ashtray, full of discarded cigarettes was. Some of them were still smoking and there was a cloud around his head, floating across the room. He hadn't opened a window. John smoked, but not a lot, usually it was when he was nervous and worried about something.

John barely looked up as he knocked the extended cherry off the end of his cigarette and took a final drag. He snuffed it out his eyes trained on Remy's. He was being serious, another bad sign. John had few moods, well few he chose to express in mixed company. Mostly it was the chip on his shoulder, cocky bastard, he could hardly stand, but occasionally John was okay. A little bit of an ass but all around fun to hang out with and then there was the face he was getting know. He was still cocky as hell, but something more important was keeping him from acting on it. John was dead serious, and that meant trouble.

"Smoked a whole pack, waiting."

Remy swallowed his mouth tasted like he'd been drinking all night, but this was different from any hangover he'd ever had. "W'at de hell happened?"

John snorted, "Where do I begin, theres been so many fucked up coincidences today."

"How 'bout you start wit why I feel like de grunge rock band from Rocky's is playin' in my head, or why dere dis huge bruise on mon face." He'd skip the part about John's weird behavior. He would probably balk if Remy even broached the subject. John didn't like talking about himself. He always said it gave him flashbacks of his days at Xavier's. Something about group therapy sessions. He hadn't pressed.

John frowned and pointed over Remy's shoulder. "Take a look at your executioner. She's responsible for the headache, the achy limbs, I'm sure, and the cotton filled mouth. The bruise is something you did on the way to unconsciousness. You smacked your head on the side of the my headboard on the way down."

Remy closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Memories were flooding his head in a disjointed sequence. He tried to sort them out, but it was taking a while. The last thing he remembered doing was touching the girl's face. Then it was like he'd been electrocuted. He'd wanted to let go, but he hadn't been able to. Maybe it was the shock of being shocked, but it was like his hand had been glued to her skin.

"She a mutant?"

"Very observant."

Remy narrowed his eyes. The cocky bastard wasn't completely gone. "W'at de hell, why she here? W'at you doin' wit a dangerous fille like dat?"

John squirmed. There were only a few things that made St. John squirm and non of them were good.

"You remember the business I had this morning?"

Remy swallowed. He knew it had been a bad idea. He'd found the damn explosives. He'd ignored them. He'd fucked up as much John had.

"Listen I was just going too..."

Remy cut him off, "Stop I don't want to know de rest."

"Why?"

"'Cause if involves your damn pyromania, I t'ink we might have ta have a fight."

"Like you can talk. You remember that girl, um Jessica?"

Remy stiffened. Dammit he always brought that up. One little mistake, sure it was a mistake that had cost them a job, but... Remy swallowed. "Dat different, homme."

John raised his brows and got to his feet, "Because it involved your dick? Interesting little fact, most things do."

"Dat's..." Remy started and watched as John braced himself for a fight. His fists were balled up his lower lip between his teeth, but he wasn't reaching for his lighter. John wanted a fist fight. Hand to hand combat. John wanted to let off steam. He was riling him up on purpose. There was something bigger something worse. Something that probably deserved a cuff in the skull.

Remy kept his cool. He didn't know how long he could endure John's mouth, but he had to try long enough to get the truth. He didn't have to wait long, apparently John felt it was important enough to skip their usual posturing.

"Its interesting. I know her. I've known her, or did know her years ago."

Remy narrowed his eyes, "From Magneto?"

"No," he reached for the last cigarette in his pack and pulled his lighter out of his pocket. He clicked the flame into place and called the fire to end of his cigarette. It was way too much flair for such a simple action, but that was John. Lots of flare. He was a show off by nature. Remy could appreciate that. He was one too , though he'd never admit it.

"She's an X-man, or was."

Remy launched into French without realizing he was doing it. The epitaphs and insults rolled off his tongue faster than John to trouble. This was worse than he'd imagined. He knew enough about the X-men to know this spelled trouble. The girl was going to talk if they let her go, and it wasn't like they could keep her locked up for a few months. She could blow everything.

"Quit your tirade, _Pierre_. There's more."

Remy stopped his rant for a moment turned toward John. More, there was more. How could it be worse? There went months of planning, of undercover work, of... He wanted to point out that Jessica hadn't been this bad, not by a long shot, but John was flicking his lighter open and shut. That wasn't too usual, but the pace in which he was doing it was. His fingers were moving with lightening speed over the rolling flint starter. Remy reached for the cards in his pocket, his own stress reliever. The glossy cards slid through his fingers with ease and he hoped it wasn't as bad as he feared.

"Those powers you got a taste off. She absorbs the mutant powers of other mutants, with just a touch, and with the powers comes memory. Given when I last talked to her she couldn't control any of it. The touch, what she got, or even how much, but if it was swimming around in your head she probably got a piece of it."

"De whole damn t'ing is gonna be blown ta hell." Remy suddenly felt weak kneed. If John hadn't already smoked all the cigarettes he'd be chain smoking with the self proclaimed Pyro.

"Bingo, Gumbo."

Remy looked at the girl who held their fate in her hands, or more specifically in her head. What was swimming around in there? He could hear John starting to pace, the faint scratch of metal on metal beating steadily as he opened and shut his lighter again and again. How much trouble was she going to make for them? She looked innocent, but then again all women did when they were sleeping.

**So here's another chapter. I hope you guys liked it. There still isn't much progression, but it will move faster the next couple of chapters. Rogue wakes up for good and lots and lots of stuff... :) ;) R&R **

**Here's a little preview for chapter 3...**

_"Don' touch a t'ing girl, dis t'ing is comin' from your touch."_

_"What are ya talkin' about?" Rogue asked. She wanted the light, wanted to see the face of the man talking to her more clearly. His eyes looked strange, dark and bright in all the wrong places. She wanted to be home, and this to all be a dream. Heck, she wanted to John back. He may be a jerk, but he was familiar._

_"My powers, dey manifest though touch dat why ya sheets glowed, de wall..." He trailed off. "If I hadn' been here dey would have exploded and taken you with them."_

_"What are ya talkin' about?" She asked again. It was the only question she could ask._

_"Don' move, chere, I'm gonna turn on de lights."_

_He let go of her arms; stepped away from her. The room was flooded with light, in seconds her closed eyelids turning orange. She opened her eyes squinting. The light was really bright. Why was it so bright?_

_"Dat better, non?_

_Rogue turned toward the voice. It was the voice she'd heard before she'd passed out . She opened her eyes slowly, squinting. She felt like the sun was shining directly on her face._

_"Vos yeux...noir et rouge..." (Your eyes... black and red...)_

**So it's not super exciting, but pretty interesting and maybe you'll want to see what happens next.**


	3. Spoonful

**Disclaimer**: I don't own a thing

**Title**: Born For Bad Luck

By: Peanutbutter

"_Boys I'm most done travellin', Lord I'm at my journey's end_

_B'lieve I'm most done travellin', __Lord at my journey's end_

_Well I been lookin' for me a good partner, bad luck is my best friend..."_

(_Born for Bad Luck_ song by Brownie McGhee)

**Chapter 3: Spoonful**

"_Men lied about a little ---_

_Some of them cried about a little ---_

_Some of them died about a little spoon---_

_Everything fightin' about a spoonful_

_That spoon, that spoon, that ---"_

_(Spoonful _song by Howlin' Wolf)

**Note:** I meant to get this out Monday, but I had a Internet issue, sorry. I will always have the new chapter out on Monday unless there is an Internet problem. Thanks for all the reviews:)

* * *

**The music** was sweet, a sweet bluesy twang that she hadn't heard in years. It filled her mind completely and took her to a place that she had left behind, place where she was a Daddy's little girl, a child, and a teenager. The memories were like dark chocolate, melting slowly on her tongue. She closed her mouth around it clamping onto the music and the memories, trying to keep them, because beyond them, she was sure, was something she didn't want to find. Despite her efforts they slipped away, the sweet slick of chocolate disappeared from her tongue and a wave of unpleasantness swallowed her. She didn't understand what she was seeing. The images were too fast, too many of them. The music changed too. Too fast, too loud. There was a scream building in the back of her mind. She wanted to open her mouth, she wanted to do anything to get away from it.

"Don' fight me."

Rogue woke immediately. It was dark, everything was dark, but her surroundings surprisingly light, like the moon was shinning across everything. Her skin was clammy and slick with sweat. She could feel it cooling on the back of her neck. A sick panic washed over her when she realized she was being held. She took a shallow breath and tried to decide whether to comply or not. He had told her not to move.

"Dis is somt'in I wasn' expectin'," He pulled her closer. His hand were splayed across her clothed back, away from her skin, but the touch still terrified her. It wasn't John.

She blinked, the hazy glow was broached by a bright pink shimmer. The bed sheet was glowing fuchsia. Was she still dreaming?

"Can you stand?"

Rogue shook her head, yes, though she wasn't really sure if she could. He set her on her feet gently, but quickly and moved toward the bed. Rogue stumbled her hand flying out and catching the wall. She didn't fall and thankfully she didn't feel sick anymore. She did feel strange, almost drunk, disoriented, and she wondered how much damage she'd received in the explosion.

The man touched John's glowing bed the light disappearing against his bare palm. The room darkened, but she could still see. The darkness only lasted for a moment before the wall her hand was resting on started to glow. What was going on?

"Merde!"

The man rushed toward her and Rogue pulled away from the wall yelping as she lost her balance. He grabbed her before she could fall. The room went dark again. He was holding her shoulders tightly. She could touch him, it would all be over in an instant, but she didn't want his memories, didn't want his essence swimming in her head. He had enough, too many, she didn't want to add another.

"Don' touch a t'ing girl, dis t'ing is comin' from your touch."

"What are ya talkin' about?" Rogue asked. She wanted the light, wanted to see the face of the man talking to her more clearly. His eyes looked strange, dark and bright in all the wrong places. She wanted to be home, and _this_ to all be a dream. Heck, she wanted to John back. He may be a jerk, but he was familiar.

"My powers, dey manifest though touch dat why ya sheets glowed, de wall..." He trailed off. "If I hadn' been here dey would have exploded and taken you with them."

"What are ya talkin' about?" She asked again. It was the only question she could ask.

"Don' move, chere, I'm gonna turn on de lights."

He let go of her arms stepped away from her. The room was flooded with light in seconds her closed eyelids turning orange. She opened her eyes squinting. The light was really bright. Why was it so bright?

"Dat better, non?

Rogue turned toward the voice. It was the voice she'd heard before she'd passed out before.

"Vos yeux...noir et rouge..."

He was nearly a foot taller than her and staring at her like she was the strangest thing he'd ever seen. There was stubble on his cheeks and jaw, chestnut hair just brushing his ears and eyes, eyes of red on black. She'd never seen anything like him in her life, but she knew him. She knew he had a scar on his chest from a knife wound, that when he was fifteen his brother shot him with a BB gun. The BB was still in his side.

"Remy LeBeau..." she whispered.

He cocked his head to the side, staring at her like she was crazy. "We know each ot'er, girl?"

Rogue shook her head. She didn't know him, she didn't. The first memory was enough to make her stumble the second was worse and she lost count after that. His life rushed on her like a wave. She couldn't push it back. He consumed her, became her, and she felt everything he did.

* * *

"_Dis is Remy, he comin' ta live with us." _

_Jean Luc shoved him forward and Remy tried to repress the glare he wanted to throw back at the older man. He didn't like being pushed around. He'd spent a long time making sure he wouldn't be. Besides Jean Luc had a son. What did he need him for? _

"_Henri dis your new frere." _

_The boy didn't look too happy with suddenly having a brother. He should turn and run, run back to the streets and things that were familiar. He didn't know he'd shut his eyes until Henri grabbed his hand shook it. He was grinning. _

"_Always wanted a brother..." _

* * *

"_Dat's Belladonna." _

"_Dat, one Belle femme." Remy grinned and winked at her when she turned his way. Her golden hair barely brushed her shoulders as she turned away from him laughing._

* * *

_Remy didn't cry, he didn't cry, never had, but this time, this time was different. He could feel it working it's way to the surface, threatening to spill out. He'd used her. He hadn't meant to hurt her but he had. He didn't know what he was going to do. _

"_Genevieve, I'm sorry." _

* * *

"_I don't wanna fight ya Julian!"_

* * *

"_I can't control it. I don't know what to do." _

"_I can help you. For a small price. _

_The smile sent a chill down Remy's spine, but it was freedom. It was a solution to something he didn't think he could get past. He would do anything to be free again. _

"_I'll do anyt'ing," he whispered. _

* * *

"_Dis is exile, Remy, you no longer in de Guild. You no longer welcome in New Orleans." _

* * *

"_Things aren't done yet." _

"_I've done wat you've asked. I done enough." _

"_There's one more thing." _

* * *

"I'm not you, I'm not you, I don't know you, I don't know you!" Rogue jumped to her feet. He was staring at her like she was crazy, but he was the crazy one. He shouldn't have touched her. He shouldn't be in her head. She'd been so good, so very good about her powers. The tears started before she could stop them and she turned away from him and headed for the only escape route she'd seen.

Her escape route turned out to be the bathroom. She slammed the door behind her locking it with clumsy, scared fingers. She was afraid of his powers. They sizzled inside her threatening to come out with each touch she made. He followed. She could hear him outside the door. She could see his shadow as he paced. Her fingers wove into her hair as she sunk onto the floor. Hoping that it would fade. It'd been too long. She didn't know if she'd be able to sort her head out again. She began to rock.

"You are you. You are Rogue." She whispered it like a prayer and hoped she wouldn't charge anything else.

"Open de door cherie."

Rogue could feel her face burning. She was so hot. Her eyes were swimming with tears as she tried to keep her mind from thinking in French and off Remy's most painful memories. They were always the most harder to push away. Things he liked, things he hated, things he loved. His passions were pushed on her unrelentingly.

The Professor had helped her gain some control when her powers had come floating a few months ago. It was a cancer she'd thought was gone and all the sudden she had to deal with it again. She'd learned how to control the flow, to keep the most painful memories pushed away until she wanted to look at them. She had shields, methods, and damn breathing exercises but all of that was shot to hell. She had initiated the touch, she had no control of what she received, and his personality was too strong to push away. He didn't like being trapped. He fought like a lion, tearing at her until she didn't think she could hold him off any longer.

It had been a long time since she'd felt tears like this. Yesterday had been out of pain and humiliation, she hated being sick but these, each one felt wrenched from the depths of her soul. They were large and wet and rolled down her cheeks in silent conquest. She fought them but her energy was caught up in fighting Remy. The one in her head wasn't listening to reason and the other, she was sure, was going to knock down the bathroom door.

She gasped as another stream of disjointed memories rushed through her head, threatening to pull her under it's wave. It was then that Remy burst through the bathroom door. The wood splintered around the hinges caving as he forced his way through. Rogue watched him her eyes narrowing at the intrusion. She opened her mouth to yell at him. She told him to go away, told him leave her alone, told him, pleaded, that he go before she took care of him for good.

She didn't realize she was speaking to him in French, that her rather strange eyes were flashing brightly with each sentence, not until he spoke the rolling language back to her. She understood every word. She had always been good with French but comprehension was slow, she had no problem understanding him. He was fast, his words pushed together in a rush to get them out but she understood ever syllable and it sent a slow chill up her spine. She wasn't going to be able to deal with this.

"Get out!" She yelled. She was still speaking French, her temper was enraged. She couldn't stop and he was still speaking slowly, like she was a wounded animal. She got to her feet, ignoring the way the tips of her fingers were burning. She charged him. He dodged but it she knew he was going to and caught him with a jab to the stomach. He barely buckled but it was all the reason to try harder. She charged again, unaware that her new found agility was due to Remy's memories. She knew how to move away from him because she was him.

* * *

**The crash **that corresponded with the opening of the door alerted John to the possibility of trouble. The explosion just confirmed it. He narrowed his eyes, the bag of fast food dropped to the floor as he charged toward the source of commotion. There were only two rooms in his apartment, and since the Cajun and Rogue weren't in view they had to be in the bathroom. Another boom rocked the wall separating the rooms, and plaster fell from his ceiling. The place was going to collapse.

"What the hell!" He yelled but it was pointless. There was more fighting. Cabinets shaking, glass breaking, people grunting. What the hell was going on. Rogue had been passed when he'd gone for food.

John burst through the remains of his bathroom door about to tell them both to quit, but what he saw stopped all proactive action. Remy was indeed fighting Rogue, Rogue with eyes of red on black. She was holding his toothbrush grinning like it was the weapon that would turn the fight in her favor. Her eyes shifted to John and she smirked. It was a lazy one sided smirk that John had seen a thousand times, but it had always been plastered on the Cajun's face.

"Dis guy pretendin' ta be me," she drawled her fingers twitching as she waved the toothbrush, now bright with power, back and forth. "Dere somet'ing goin' on here, eh, somet'ing dat screams Essex."

John froze. She knew, knew enough to be dangerous.

"You gonna help me homme?" She asked.

Remy hadn't taken his eyes off her. Blood ran down the side of his face and neck staining the collar of his long sleeved tee. John let his eyes trail over the Cajun as he looked for more injuries. There wasn't anymore blood, but the sleeve of his shirt was singed away. The hairs on his arm were slightly curled.

"Yeah," John started, he pulled out his lighter. "Just tell me where you want me."

"Ya here dat?" Rogue mocked her eyes leaving John's and landing on Remy, the man she thought was her double, "Dis is over."

John wished he could catch sight of Remy, give him the eye, make a gesture, do some sort of damn signal. He was working blind. He began to form a ball of fire. His mind was racing as he wondered how close he could get it to her without really hurting her. He wagered on pretty damn close, because too far away was not worth the risk. Rogue was out of her mind.

He threw it before he could think anymore. She fell backwards the back of her knees hitting the tub wall. With a yelp she fell in. John could smell burning hair and he hoped he hadn't thrown it too close. Remy immediately jumped forward. Rogue was already getting to her feet, screaming, cussing, all in French, so John couldn't understand a bit of it. Remy put his hand on her chest before she could get her feet and shoved her backward. She hit the porcelain with a loud thud and a gasp. He'd knocked her breath out.

Were they going to have to knock her out again. He had no idea how to get her back. He was about to ask Remy when the Cajun reached for the shower handle and tugged the water on. She blinked as it hit her, soaking her in moments her hair plastering to her forehead. She coughed, gasping, still unable to catch her breath and now hindered by the onslaught of water. She closed her eyes.

John moved to her side. He needed to fix the angle she was sitting in, make it so she could catch her breath. Remy beat him to it. He grabbed her shoulders, gentle for someone who'd just been in a fight with her. She coughed again, gasping for air when her face broke the spray of water. She opened her eyes, green and confused, they stared straight ahead.

"Turn off the water."

Her voice was so soft John barely heard it. She pulled her knees to her chest breathing steadily as the water tapered to a mere drip. She didn't move to wipe the water from her skin, or even the dampened hair out of her eyes. Her voice was rough when she spoke.

"You're not going to let me go, are you?"

She directed the question at Remy her eyes boring into his. John felt invisible.

Remy took his hand off the faucet and pulled himself to his full height. He was solemn as he looked down at her.

"Je suis desole," he whispered.

Rogue pulled her legs closer and rested her chin on her knees. Remy only watched her for a moment longer before pushing his way past John and out of the room. He looked pissed, but it was the kind of pissed that had little to do with the fight.

"Why," she started, but her voice cracked choking her words before she could get them out. John was almost sure he heard a sob, but Rogue was already so wet, he couldn't be sure if there were tears. "Why, do you keep doing this?"

She turned toward him. Her eyes were bright, light reflecting off wetness. There were tears. He didn't recall ever seeing Rogue cry. He turned away from her, ashamed for reasons he couldn't name.

"Why, do you put all this energy into the wrong cause. I never thought you were a bad person. I never really thought you were that bad!"

John didn't know why her words hurt. He'd disappointed a lot of people. He knew that, was okay with that. Rogue pulled her eyes away from his and buried her face in her knees.

"Just leave me alone. For now, just leave me alone."

John backed away from her and out his destroyed bathroom door. He tried to prop it back up, but the hinges were snapped and the lock shattered. He lay it against the door frame. It leaned crazily and threatened to fall back down, and there was a huge gap in by the floor, but it stayed. It was enough to give her some privacy, but it wasn't enough to block out her sobs, not matter how much she tried to suppress them.

"I thought you were a master thief, lock picker extraordinar, what the hell happened to my door." John wasn't really pissed about the door, but being pissed an the real cause would mean he would have to be pissed at himself. He tried real hard to have no regrets.

Remy shrugged. He was sitting on the counter again, shuffling his cards, his brow creased. He was thinking. John hated it when the Cajun, The Gambit, thought too much. It usually meant they were going to have to do something, something a little more dangerous than usual. The fact that he ignored the jab about his skills as a thief was enough to promise trouble.

"Yeah, well you're putting it back up, and how about a new mirror." The other was shattered, bits all over the floor. Had Rogue done it, or Remy. He tried to remember if there was blood on her, but it all happened too fast.

Remy shrugged again. He shuffled his cards high into the air the excess dropping into his palm perfectly. He began cutting the deck with one hand the other ran through his hair.

"We can' let her go."

John swallowed. He had seen the exchange. It was something else he was trying to avoid thinking about. It wouldn't be the first time he'd held someone hostage, but it the first time it wasn't planned, and the first time he'd felt guilty about it.

"Yeah, not something we haven't done before."

Remy shrugged again. John hated that. Hated that Remy was so quiet and he felt compelled to fill the silence.

"Besides she's already here. We just have to keep her here."

"De girl wit untouchable skin, de girl who can knock ya unconscious wit one touch. She be real easy ta keep locked up."

John ignored the look Remy was giving him. "It won't be for long, alright. We're already half way done. We just..." He trailed off.

"Have ta keep Excess from findin' out." Remy jumped off the counter. "Wat did ya get ta eat?"

John was a little surprised with the change in topic. "Um, burgers."

"Bon," Remy answered and started for the crumpled sack on the floor. He pulled out a squashed burger and unwrapped it. It was gone in the matter of seconds. "We gonna have ta tie her up, move her." He swallowed and reached for another burger. "De X-men gonna be after her. We gotta make sure dere no trail to lead deme to us."  
"What about tonight, we can't just..."

"Oui," Remy shoved a few fries into his mouth, "Dat why you gonna stay wit de fille. De Gambit gonna go it alone."

**Thats the end of chapter three. So tell me what ya think also a little preview for chapter 4.**

**

* * *

**

Rogue was wearing John's clothes, all of them impossibly large on her tiny frame. She was curled in the middle of his bed hands wrapped in gloves. She was talking, animatedly compared to how he'd left her, nearly comatose and wet. Her eyes were still hollow, her cheeks still too red and her lips too pale, but she looked a little better. He had little to compare her to though, just the fire of her first waking and the desolation of her collapse back into reality.

He felt like he should know her better. She'd lived in his mind, had been him for a while and he all he knew about her was her alias and that she'd once been friends with St. John. John when he'd been only three years younger and on his way to herodom. He snorted. Besides himself, John was the last person he'd tag as a hero.

"So they let you stay, I mean even when you were useless."

Rogue seemed indignant and Remy shifted so he could see her face better. She was biting her lip as she looked at him. She looked like she was holding back a storm with her teeth.

"I wasn't useless, and they're my family."

"Family," John laughed, "you were there because they needed something from you."

"And Magneto was a real father figure," she countered hardly missing a beat.

"I knew what Magneto was all about," Remy could hear John fidgeting, "I wasn't surprised when it all went down. I got just what I'd signed up for. Everybody has their own agenda, and it usually revolves around themselves. It's self preservation."

"That's ridiculous."

"It's reality."

"You felt at home there," Rogue was looking at her feet, plucking at the strings on her socks. John had untied her hands. That was a stupid move.

"With you and the _iceboy_?" John sneered. "Xavier wanted us to fight a war, he recruited us because we could help his cause."

**Well that's not an exciting scene, but I've got a few quirks to work out in the action scenes coming up so I couldn't post those. Hope it's enough to keep you interested. Keep giving me that feedback, I feed off those good vibes, and always helpful criticism is welcome and praise when you feel it's deserved. :) **


	4. Death Bells

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Title: **Born For Bad Luck**

By: Peanutbutter

"_Boys I'm most done travellin', Lord I'm at my journey's end_

_B'lieve I'm most done travellin', Lord at my journey's end_

_Well I been lookin' for me a good partner, bad luck is my best friend..."_

(_Born for Bad Luck_ song by Brownie McGhee)

Chapter 4: **Death Bells **

_Sound like I'm hearing moaning, death bell ringing all in my head_

_Sound like I can hear moaning, death bell ringing all in my head_

_Yeah I know that I was gonna leave on a chariot but I didn't know_

_What kind of chariot gonna take me away from here..._

_(Death Bells_ By Lightenin' Hopkins)

**Note: **Boy this chapter kicked my ass. Nothing came together like I wanted it to. I actually hate this chapter a lot. growl I think I might explode if I read it one more time.

* * *

**Xavier's School** for the Gifted was surprisingly loud. Doors slamming, feet hitting carpet, screaming, running, jumping, laughing. There was almost a beat to the loud life that went on under the roof he was sitting on. It brought a nostalgic grin to his lips as he listened. Kids met in secret, crowded near dark corners and windows. They whispered their promises into the night, never realizing he was hearing their wishes, their confessions, their love. There were a few tears mixed into the air, cries so faint he could barely hear them. Children, hardly old enough to be away from their parents cried for them. There was comfort. In those cries a soft voice calmed them, maybe adult, but something told him it was the other children that did the calming. The mansion was a good place, a wondrous place, because beneath the children, and the laughter, and the comfort was a very high tech facility. The X-men lived and breathed beneath these children and their attempt to be normal. Was it right to gather them to this spot, he wondered? Mostly he wondered if the files he'd stolen were going to stop the laughter, intensify the cries, and bring this musical calm to an unrelentingly chaos.

Absently he pulled the small jump drive out of his pocket and ran his fingers over the square. There was a lot of info in the file. He'd scanned it before downloading the information, something that he usually didn't do. It was best to keep as many secrets between him and his employers as possible, but this time it was different. Rogue had made it different. Waterlogged and crying her hollow eyes still haunted him.

The files were on mutants. He'd only glanced at a couple, but the people he'd come across were deformed by their mutations, spikes growing all over their bodies, hair were it shouldn't be, elongated limbs, huge bodies, tiny ones, sallow skin, huge eyes, multiple limbs. They lived in the sewers under the city, called themselves The Morlocks. Why did Excess want that information? It was too big of a question and the answer promised to be even bigger.

"You set the alarm?"

_Shit. _Remy pressed shifted to the left hiding himself from view behind one of the roof tiers. By letting his mind wander, he'd put himself in a potentially dangerous situation. When he completed a job he left. He didn't usually hang around waiting for the victims to realize they'd been robbed.

The male voice was joined by another, a woman.

"Yes Logan. I set it. Just like I set it every night. The motion detectors are on line the alarms are on each window. We have an escape plan. We have everything under control."

Remy couldn't help but grin. Sure things were real secure. He had gotten in, little effort, and less trouble. Whoever did their security was an idiot, but a helpful one nonetheless.

"I don't know."

The male was moving around. He was loud, probably heavy bottomed boots on fallen leaves, but something told Remy he was being loud on purpose. His steps were almost clumsy, like he was slamming his feet into the grass with each step. The woman followed her steps lighter, like a breeze rushing across the yard. Remy wasn't really concerned, but as soon as the two went back inside he was leaving, reminiscing on roofs didn't seem worth it at the moment.

There was a quiet sniff, like the man was trying to clear his sinuses but almost politely.

"Rogue been by here today?"

Remy stiffened the hairs on his arm rising as every nerve in his body told him to be on alert. Something was going on with this guy.

The woman's reply was quiet, "No, funny you asked though, she mentioned stopping by, but I never saw her."

"I haven't either." The man walked again, further into the yard, his steps were duller, he was nearly silent before Remy realized the man was walking toward the center of the yard. He could see the top of the roof from the center. Remy flattened himself against the tier. His body started to tingle, he felt trapped even though logic told him he wasn't.

"Somethings off, the air, it's a little..." There was the sound again, but Remy knew the guy wasn't suffering from allergies. He was smelling, and apparently he was smelling him.

Silently Remy slipped his hand into his pocket his fingers closing around his cards, fifty two little distractions. He pulled the top card, he wasn't sure what it was. Hopefully he wasn't so out of luck he needed the Ace, or even the Queen. Whatever he held would have to do. His ungloved index finger and thumb closed over the card. His tips tingled pleasantly while heat ran up his arm. He held the charge, simmering on the edge, still in his pocket.

The sound of metal hitting metal reached his ears, but he held his ground. The guy had no idea who he was dealing with.

"'Ro go back inside, make sure the system's set, check the kids."

"Logan, what..."

"Go!"

The scream was all the signal Remy needed he tossed the card over his shoulder, guessing on it trajectory and hoping it was close enough. He ran, silent footsteps across the dips and curves of the roof. It was nothing, he'd spent his entire childhood running across rooftops. The explosion shook the building, spraying grass into the air. There was a curse and Remy chanced a glance over his shoulder.

The man in the yard was covered in blood. Apparently the card had hit real close. He didn't seem too bothered by the blood, his mouth twisted in a snarl. Six inch blades cut though the darkness extending from the knuckles of his clenched fists. Remy didn't need to look any longer to know the man was heading straight for him.

Remy vaulted off the roof tucking his body tightly together as he prepared to the hit the ground. The impact nearly knocked his breath out and he forced himself into a roll. His feet hit the ground on the third turn and he headed for the gate. The man was behind him, snarling like a freaking bear.

Gloved fingers closed over the steal rod tucked into his coat. Remy pulled the bo staff out and snapped it into full extension right before the wall. He vaulted over. The cool night air brushed the hair out of his face as he flew through the sky and in moments he was on the other side. He didn't stop to see if he was being followed. He knew he was. Escape only depended on him staying ahead. He couldn't afford a fight. Not when his boss was Excess and not when they had a hostage.

"You stop now, and I only cut off a few limbs, bub!"

Remy swallowed and ran faster. That really didn't make him want to surrender. His bike was parked nearby anyway. He cut off the road and dove into the trees. He could be silent and with the darkness as his friend he could hide, or at least loose the guy long enough to get away. He swung into a tree by his third step into the woods. The man followed, barreling though his claws slicing the over hanging branches in his way.

Not wanting to wait, Remy pushed himself into the foliage, moving as quickly and silently as possible. He jumped to the next tree, hardly shaking a leaf loose. He hit the ground again a few trees in and ran. His feet barely touched the forest floor and he hoped the silence meant he'd lost the man, but something told him he wasn't that lucky. His bike was in sight though, he only had to run a little longer.

The cool metal of his bike was against his palm when he turned to look over his shoulder. The man jumped through the trees, claws gleaming, face surprisingly blood free. His eyes were wide and wild. The man growled and Remy jumped onto the bike and revved the engine. Tires squealing, the hit scent of burnt rubber in his nose he tore down the street.

"This isn't over! Dammit!"

Remy pushed the bike faster, afraid the man was going to catch him on foot. It wasn't until he was three quarters of the way home and the adrenaline that had been pumping through his veins ran out that he felt the sting. It was dull at first and he tried to ignore it, but by the time he was in front of John's apartment he was in agony. He stopped the bike and put his hand on his shoulder. His fingers slipped in the blood that now soaked his duster. Dammit the bastard had clawed him.

He wasn't going into the apartment with that. John would bitch, something about how he should have been there. The girl. Remy growled he really didn't want to know what she was going to say. He'd wrap it up and wait for the bleeding to stop before he went in. He needed a cigarette anyway.

* * *

Remy closed his eyes as a warm breeze brushed over his face chapping his lips and tossing his hair. He sat up licked the dry from his mouth and pulled a cigarette out of the opened pack at his side. His right hand curled around his left shoulder holding the gauze to his back. He hissed as he leaned against the building trying to settle himself comfortably. He put his fingers around the stick and lit the end with his powers. The paper flared to life and began to blacken as a curl of smoke trailed off the end and into the night. The two were still up.

He'd gone home, changed, dressed his arm and taken a few healthy swigs of liquor before heading back. It was past two before he got back and his shoulder was hurting like hell. He wondered idly why he had even bothered. They should be sleeping and John could wait until the morning to hear about the heist, but he'd come back anyway. He thought he might be a little drunk when he scaled the wall and perched himself on the ledge outside John's window. Fingering the drive in his pocket and smoking he listened. Willing the sting away.

Rogue was wearing John's clothes, all of them impossibly large on her tiny frame. She was curled in the middle of his bed hands wrapped in gloves. She was talking, animatedly, compared to how he'd left her, nearly comatose and wet. Her eyes were still hollow, her cheeks still too red and her lips too pale, but she looked a little better. He had little to compare her to, just the fire of her first waking and the desolation of her collapse back into reality.

He felt like he should know her better. She'd lived in his mind, had been him for a while and he all he knew about her was her alias and that she'd once been friends with St. John. John when he'd been only three years younger and on his way to herodom. He snorted, clutched his shoulder. Besides himself, John was the last person he'd tag as a hero.

"So they let you stay, I mean even when you were useless."

Rogue seemed indignant and Remy shifted so he could see her face better. She was biting her lip as she looked at him. She looked like she was holding back a storm with her teeth.

"I wasn't useless, and they're my family."

"Family," John laughed, "you were there because they needed something from you."

"And Magneto was a real father figure," she countered hardly missing a beat.

"I knew what Magneto was all about," Remy could hear John fidgeting, "I wasn't surprised when it all went down. I got just what I'd signed up for. Everybody has their own agenda, and it usually revolves around themselves. It's self preservation."

"That's ridiculous."

"It's reality."

"You felt at home there," Rogue was looking at her feet, plucking at the strings on her socks. John had untied her hands. That was a stupid move.

"With you and the _iceboy_?" John sneered. "Xavier wanted us to fight a war, he recruited us because we could help his cause."

"They gave me a home!" She yelled back. Her face was reddening. She was pissed by the implication. He could see she her underlying dilemma. She had thought the same thing more than once.

"They didn't give me a thing but rejection."

There was enough real emotion in his answer for Remy to turn his attention from the girl back to John. He wasn't looking at her but at the wall above her head. When John avoided eye contact he about to say something he didn't want to, or had already revealed something he didn't mean to.

"Rejection! They took you in, you didn't have anywhere to go either. You father..."

John jumped to his feet, knocking his chair backwards, "Shut up, girl." He spat. Rogue was silent in return, but only for a moment.

"If you had come back..."

John spun around his eyes were gleaming, there was smoke dancing on the edges of his fingers, the lighter was resting in his palm. "I told you to shut up! You mucked around in my head a couple of times and you think you know me." The smoke grew to a fireball.

"I know you're better than this."

John didn't deflate, but he didn't advance. He held his ground. "I've killed people. Lots of people. You think Alcatraz with without it's casualties?"

Remy chose that moment to come through the window. The show was getting too heated for him to remain a bystander. John killing Rogue would only make more problems.

"Dis a bad time?" Remy asked when he landed on the floor a few feet from John's bed a cigarette still smoldering between his lips. It took a lot of effort not to grab his shoulder. The light in John's eyes wavered a bit but the ball of flame was still burning. John was still pissed.

"Where the hell have you been?"

Remy shrugged, "De job took a little longer den anticipated."

"Is it done?"

"Oui," Remy pulled the drive out of his pocket. The flame died. "Let me see it."

Remy didn't protest and tossed the drive at John. It landed in the palm he'd just been holding a fireball in. He closed his finger around it and shoved it in his pocket.

"I'm taking it to Essex." He was out the door without another word.

Remy would have protested, but John was already pissed, the damn girl had pushed all his buttons and he was seconds from loosing it. There was no point in telling him Excess wouldn't be there. John wasn't really going there anyway. The drop off wasn't until morning. John would blow off steam and come back when he was cooled off.

"You don' know how close you came ta la morte, chere." Remy ground the cigarette into the full tray and turned toward Rogue.

She was still looking at the door when she answered. "Ah'm not afraid of him."

"You should be."

Remy closed the window and grabbed the coiled rope on the foot to the bed. She didn't fight when he tied her hands together. This job was getting worse and worse.

* * *

**That's the end for this chapter. Tell me what you think.**

**Here's the preview for Chapter 5**

"Those slashes on your back, I know who did that."

He stiffened slightly, but continued to shuffle. Indifferent and smug, he even smiled when he turned to face her.

Rogue felt her temper flaring. "Ya think that's the worst that will happen to ya when your caught, 'cause Logan's going to find ya. The X-men are goin' to stop ya!" She pulled at her ropes binding her wrist, willing them to break.

He laughed, short and barking. "We jumped de gun a little with you, petite. Dere a lot dat you don' know."

Rogue closed her mouth, reining her temper. "Ah know enough."

"Oui, on dat we can agree."

He grabbed the chair he had been straddling and pulled it in front of her. Rogue watched him warily as he straddled it, and started tossing the shuffled cards in her direction.

"You play cards, petite?"

Rogue shook her head, "Ah'm not your poker buddy. Ah'm not playing cards with ya."

"You don' have ta be friends ta play poker, chere."

"So mortal enemies work better."

"Dere no hard feelins' when ya loose, so oui, mortal enemies work de best."

**Well there it is. Sorry it's a little late, but hey still Wed. Hope this holds you guys over until Monday.**


	5. T Ain't Nobody's Buziness If I Do

Disclaimer: I own nothing

Title: Born For Bad Luck

By: Peanutbutter

"_Boys I'm most done travellin', Lord I'm at my journey's end_

_B'lieve I'm most done travellin', Lord at my journey's end_

_Well I been lookin' for me a good partner, bad luck is my best friend..."_

(_Born for Bad Luck_ song by Brownie McGhee)

Chapter 5: **'T Ain't Nobody's Bizness If I Do**

There ain't nothing I can do, or nothing I can say That folks don't criticize me

But I'm goin' to, do just as I want to anyway

And don't care if they all despise me

(_T Ain't Nobody's Bizness If I Do_ Song by Bessie Smith)

* * *

_**It swirled** in front of him, the answer to questions he didn't have, the end to his connection to Nathaniel Essex, gray and in a small clear bottle. Fingers closed over the contents taking it from Remy's view and forcing him to face the bottle's holder. Essex was grinning. The inhuman smile of filed teeth and empty eyes of scorching red told Remy all he needed to know. Essex wanted something. Something more than the regular jobs he and John had been working on. Bigger than petty theft and small demolitions. This was something big. Essex was giving back the one thing he took the most joy in, experimentation. The bottle, after all, was how Remy'd gotten mixed up with the man in the first place._

"_Do you know what this is?" _

_Remy swallowed. There was no use trying to appear indifferent. Essex was a master at getting what he wanted. Remy hated that he always fell into the man's hand like fresh clay. Essex was molding him into something new, something he didn't necessarily want to be. He nodded, too worried that words would give away his desperation. The bottle was a clear break from the man, and there was little Remy wouldn't trade for it. _

"_I have another job for you." _

_He wasn't surprised. He knew when Excess had proposed the end of their agreement there would be a steep price. The bottle was merely proof that he meant it. _

"_As you know I do a little research at my lab, small favors for subjects, most willing participants. Much like yourself." _

_Remy had seen the lab, blood splashed tables, and sticky utensils. He cringed to the think of the reasons behind them, the reasons for the screams that followed his entrance into the main room. Desperation could drive people to do crazy things. Remy had felt the desperation first hand._

"_I have come across something in my research that disturbs me. There is a group that contradicts some research I've done. They made quite an upset in my theories." He looked away for a moment his brow furrowing over his fathomless eyes. He tightened his fist around the bottle. "It gives me an opportunity to give you something you want for something I desire. I will no longer call on you after this is done. You or the Pyro." _

"_What does dis job entail?" A little caution was all he could muster. _

"_I need you to get some files from Xavier's School for Gifted Children. The school is a cover for someone I think you are familiar with. The X-men aren't exactly discrete." _

_Remy couldn't force air past the lump in his throat. _

"_Morlocks are what they call themselves. A community of mutants with," he paused and grinned, his smiles were never reassuring, "unusual circumstances. I need that file." _

"_Do we have a deal." He opened his closed his fist revealing the bottle for just a second to reiterate his point . Remy took a breath. He could finish this. He'd never have to do a job for the man again, would never have to worry... _

"_Dat all, Remy t'ougt dis was gonna be somet'ing hard." His body churned with anxiety. _

_Essex laughed. "There's just one more thing, a side job. I need a few men found." _

* * *

**Rogue jerked** awake her hands desperate to cover her face, to brush the man's gaze away from her, but her hands wouldn't move. Her hands were bound; her feet tied. She wasn't in her room. She took a calming breath as she remembered who she was, and why there were strange memories living in her dreams. Balling her hands into a fist, she rolled onto her back and struggled to an up right position, using her hands as a pivot. Her hair flopped in front of her eyes with the effort, and tickled the edges of her mouth and nose unpleasantly. She blew at the hairs, but all the air did was push them up and back into her face again. She growled and gave up. Her resolve broken, she curled her legs underneath her body intent on think of a way out and a way to warn the X-men.

Hands were on her face. Rogue jerked away. The identity of the offender covered by the barrage of hair and darkness. He didn't back off and his fingers were merely brushing her cheeks, hardly enough to enact her powers. It still made her tremble. Touch, though something she craved, had never been more terrifying.

"Just, tryin' ta help ya, belle."

"Ah didn't ask for it." She spat. She would have moved away but the ropes pretty much rendered all movement to something resembling an earthworm frying on a hot sidewalk.

Remy held his hands up, gloved, and backed away. He may have his hands protected, but his chest was bare. She could barely see the red rust of dried blood on his shoulder and down his back as he walked away. Even in the dim light the three slash marks where distinguishable, Logan.

"Can ya at least untie mah hands?"

"Non," Remy shook his head to reinforce his words. He turned back around, straddling the chair in front of her and blocking her view of his mutilated back. _What was he looking at her for anyway?_ She turned away from him.

"Dey'll fade?"

Rogue raised a brow, "What?"

"De memories, of moi, dey'll fade, right?"

Rogue _really_ didn't want to be talking to him about this. She remembered the bloody eyes, the filed teeth. Eyes like Remy's in color but different in every other way. She shivered, goose bumps rushing over her covered arms. She wanted to rub the unnatural chill away.

"They don't really fade, just, become less focused." She swallowed and kept her eyes on the bed, refusing to look at him. She didn't even know why she was talking to him.

"So de blur, until you can't recognize dem anymore?"

Rogue frowned. If only it was that simple. She shrugged. She wasn't going to tell him that Sinister would haunt her dreams for a long time. That Remy's scariest moments in life would probably filter though when she slept. That he would forever be a part of her just like everyone who had ever touched her, trapped forever in her mind.

"Why do you work for him?"

She looked at him now. She wanted to see his face when he answered, to see how he justified it. He was still leaning on the chair, bare chested, his chin resting on his folded arms. He raised a brow.

"Money," he answered after a moment. His eyes flashed, bright for a moment, before dulling back to their normal red.

"What is he going to do with those files?" If he was uncomfortable with the question he didn't show it, not like John who would have shot to his feet, pacing and mumbling. Remy was used to being composed. She was sure there was a reason for it, something swimming in her head, waiting to be found.

"De Gambit have a don' ask don' tell policy."

Rogue narrowed her eyes at his indifference. He could ignore the files but there was something else swimming in his memories. Sabertooth, others that she could only see and not name. He couldn't justify them.

"What about Sabertooth? Ya think he's out ta do some good?"

"De jobs are unrelated." Remy did get to his feet this time. He walked toward the table, exposing his back, and grabbed a deck of cards. He started to shuffle them. Ignoring her.

"Those slashes on your back, I know who did that."

He stiffened slightly but he continued to shuffle, indifferent and smug he even smiled when he turned to face her again.

Rogue felt her temper flaring. "Ya think that's the worst that will happen to ya when your caught, 'cause Logan's going to find ya. The X-men are goin' to stop ya."

He laughed, short and barking. "We jumped de gun a little with you, petite. Dere a lot dat you don' know."

Rogue closed her mouth, reining her temper. "I know enough."

"Oui, on dat we can agree." He grabbed the chair he had been straddling and pulled it in front of her.

Rogue watched him warily as he straddled it and started tossing the shuffled cards in her direction.

"You play cards, petite?"

Rogue shook her head, "Ah'm not your poker buddy. Ah'm not playing cards with ya."

"You don' have ta be friends ta play poker, chere."

"So enemies work better."

"Dere no hard feelins' when ya loose, so oui, enemies work de best." He stacked her cards into a pile in front of her. "I'll pick 'em up so you can look at dem."

"Ah'm not playin' cards with ya."

Rogue tried to push herself away from him, but it was hard. Her hands ached, her legs were falling sleep, and her ankles were killing her. She hated this, hated that she was see helpless, and hated him, and John too.

"What do ya say, you win and I untie your hands."

Rogue tried not to look too eager when she turned toward him.

* * *

**John had** always heard it wasn't good to solve your problems with violence. He grinned as his fist crumpled against his assailants face, bone against bone, his fist burned, knuckles split and bleeding, but he'd never felt better. Violence _was_ the answer, damn he'd never felt so good.

"Ya damn mutie!"

Why was it everyone always blamed the mutants? I'm getting his ass kicked, damn the mutants! I spilled my drink, damn mutants, mutants were the worlds favorite punching bag. It didn't matter if was actually a mutant. The man didn't know that. John hadn't once used his powers, though that statement made him want to set the man's pants on fire, how much would he wail while his crouch was on fire. John laughed, short, and humorlessly, he would probably wail a lot louder.

John ducked a punch, and turned to his right kicked out. His foot caught the man in the chest propelling him into the pool table and scattering the balls across the floor. God, that felt good. Remy had been right, hand to hand, it was the fucking shit. Listening to Remy's amused laughter and barking orders had been worth it after all.

The man didn't get back up. Out cold against the table, his buddies hung back unsure of whether they should try again. Secretly John urged them forward. He was still a little pissed. Rogue's words were still spinning in his head and he was still pissed that it bothered him.

"Who's next?"

John raised a brow and gave his best grin. A line of blood ran down his chin, but no one moved. Their eyes were glued to their buddy. Damn, they were scared. But John knew a secret. A lot of people had no idea that you fought fear with fear. He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out his lighter. The ball of fire grew in his palm and he smiled. The fear on the men's faces morphed. They were pissed, pissed because they feared him. John was used to that look, he'd seen it his entire life.

"Now," he asked again, "who's next?"

They rushed him all at once, curses hurled at him without abandon. They would have hurt, if he cared, but John had stopped caring a long time ago. He jumped onto a chair, and grabbed a pool cue. Remy had always taught him to use whatever was around him. Anything could become a weapon. John let the flame take over the stick, engulfing it in bright licks of fire. He had a few minutes with his flaming weapon before it became useless.

The first swipe missed, but pushed the men backward. He jumped to the ground. The sirens barely reached his ears. His blood was boiling so loudly it was hard to hear. The flames on the stick died. Fun over. He wasn't getting caught by the cops. He extinguished the cue's flames and dropped the charred wood on the floor. He formed another ball of fire, letting it grow in his palm.

"It's over punk!" One of the guys yelled.

John rolled his eyes. They had no idea. When he knew the ball was large enough he threw it. The men scrambled like roaches from daylight, and John made a break for the exit. They tried to follow, but they didn't get far before John lost them. The night hide him and he tried to keep his feet quiet as he hopped on a fire escape and headed for Remy's favorite escape venue, the roof. By time he huddled against the building's thick brick wall, smoking a cigarette the bar was in an uproar, but he was clear.

He couldn't leave though. He would wait for a few hours, until the night died down and then head back. Besides, the longer he was away from Rogue the better. Absently, he reached into his pocket and fingered the jump drive. Essex's files were on the drive, The Morlocks. He'd been there once. Dragged by Bobby and Storm on a training mission before everything had gone to shit. He took a long pull on his cigarette and tossed the butt over his shoulder. It sparked and died as it sailed to the sidewalk below.

They lived underground, ashamed of their appearance, or trapped by it. He'd watched them with guarded mistrust while Bobby and Storm talked to them, tried to get them to come out of hiding, to at least join forces, send their children top side. They were adamant about their life style. They had already tried to regular life, and been burned by it. They preferred seclusion. John hadn't known why life in the dark, wet tunnels was better than the surface. He had been ridiculed. He lived with it, but he also didn't have six arms, or skin the color of toilet bowl cleaner. To each their own, he had guessed. They left them alone.

John tossed the drive into the air, it glowed, metallic then red, as it tumbled back toward his palm. What did Essex want with them? John didn't know much about Essex, just what Remy had told him over too much tequila, and too little sleep. Remy had needed help a long time ago, something about his powers, and Essex had removed something in his head, fixed him. Now Remy felt he owned Essex his life, or at least a long list favors. John helped because he got paid, and Remy was really the only friend he had. This was Remy's last job. After this he was free. John knew it was big. Essex wouldn't give Remy up for anything less. Besides there was also the side job. What did Essex need with a guy who could touch you and scramble your being, kill a radio, or stop your car? Damn funny prankster, but in Essex's hands everything had a purpose. Not to mention Sabertooth. The bastard had worked for Magneto, an egotistical animal, consumed by his mutation, more of an animal than Wolverine.

He didn't really guess he could judge anyone for the Magneto thing. He'd worked for him. Had served him like the stooges he'd tried to avoid, devoted to Magneto he'd done things he didn't think he was capable of. Magneto had nearly killed Rogue, had done terrible things, things he hadn't thought mattered. He only wanted to be himself, to shine, to fight, where Xavier wouldn't let him. He'd made the wrong choice, betrayed his friends...

That wasn't something he wanted to think about, no regrets. John didn't regret anything he'd ever done. Everything happened for a reason. He would give the drive to Essex, find the mutants he wanted, and leave town. Rogue was just proof that they'd been in New York too long. When this hell of a job was over life would be so much easier.

Pulling himself to his feet he brushed his hands over his jeans and headed back toward his apartment. His face was starting to ache, and his hand was killing him. He needed to bury it in a bag of ice. Sure hand to hand was great when his adrenaline was pumping, but when he was calm the ache was almost unbearable.

John was surprised the lights were one in the apartment when he got back. It was nearly morning, but the sun hadn't risen and he was sure Remy would have gotten a little sleep, hell one of them should have. He opened the door and was surprised to see Rogue at the kitchen table her hands untied, her feet free, shuffling a deck of cards. Remy was sitting across from her smoking a cigarette and sending her his _Casanova _grin.

"You're cheating," Rogue snapped and tossed the card toward the still grinning Cajun.

"How dat possible, chere, de cards, de in your hands." Remy was watching the cards slide across the table as she passed them. He waited until he had all five before finally picking them up.

They were playing cards? John was frozen in the doorway afraid to ask. He wasn't even sure they knew he'd opened the door.

"Long time no see," Remy called over his hand. "Dat a pretty bad bruise. Something hit ya?"

John shut the door and headed for his refrigerator. He still wanted that ice. "Nah," he answered and grabbed a few cubes and dropped them into a paper towel. "I fell down some stairs."

Remy snorted. "Dat an interesting excuse."

Rogue turned around, eyes narrowed as she took him in. "Ah hope it hurt."

"Yeah," John placed the makeshift ice pack across his knuckles, "I'm sure you do." He looked at Remy. "Why is she untied?"

"Ah'm still here ya know."

John raised a brow, "yeah unfortunately I noticed."

"I won two rounds," she answered.

John shot Remy a look. What was he pulling? Rogue could knock him flat with a touch of her pinky. Sure he'd untied her too, but dammit he knew enough to know it had been a mistake. Remy shrugged.

"De fille got magic powers."

"You didn't loose," John shot back and hissed when the ice rubbed his raw knuckles.

"Yes, he did." Rogue was being vocal again. He didn't remember her being so annoying.

"No," John stomped across the room and stood beside the grinning Cajun. He knew Remy. Remy never lost something he didn't mean too. He reached into the man's coat. Ignoring his protest and pushing past his half protesting hands. He pulled out a couple of aces and tossed them on the table. "If you won, he let you."

"So all that talk about a thieves honer, complete bullshit?" Rogue asked.

Remy shrugged, "Old habits chere. We did kidnap you."

"I'm tying her back up." John went toward the bed his hand falling on the rope. He started to coil it up when he looked toward the window. Crouched on the window like a wild cat was a man, claws glinting in the lamp light, lips drawn back in an inhuman snarl, he had been wrong Sabertooth had nothing on Wolverine.

"Thought I smelled ya." he growled. "I'm here for the girl."

Rogue called his name. A princess begging to be saved. Logan sounded like the name of a Knight. He leaped into the room and John knew he was dead. Wolverine didn't take prisoners.

* * *

**Preview Chapter 6**

_The blast threw John over the baseboard of his bed, ice flying, rope incinerated somewhere in the blast, and damn if the guy didn't keep coming. His claws were slashing, trying without effect to clear the smoke. John scrambled to his feet and back toward the door. His eyes were wide like he was looking on the ghost of his grandmother, or the voodoo queen of Louisiana. It wasn't all fear, but a mixture or appreciation and awe. Obviously John knew him. Maybe if he'd mentioned him before they would have avoided the situation, but it was too late for what ifs, there were too many to think about._

_The girl started to struggle, pulling for the clawed man, calling out his name, twisting, trying to pull her gloves free. Remy had to hold her tighter, knowing he was bruising her, but he couldn't have her getting away, not just yet. They weren't quite done, even if Essex had to drive they needed to get out of town before the X-men found out about the files, about the red eyed man's involvement._

_He threw another card. It exploded near the hairy man, but didn't stop him._

_"Aim for his face," John called as he ran up beside him a ball of fire already forming on his palm. "It's the only way we're getting away."_

_"John!" Rogue yelled and Remy jerked her hard, halting her cries and pulled her close to his side, tucking her against him. His other hand pulled cards out of his pocket._

_John only glanced at Rogue for a moment before turning back to Remy. "He regenerates. We have to hit him fast and quick before he had time to recover."_

_Remy pulled the cards three cards out charging them as the man approached. John threw fire balls. They lit on the man's clothes but fizzled after a few seconds. John got was getting hot the heat from his flames growing with each toss. He was building toward something big and Remy had to make sure he was there to help him. They had one chance to get out, and even then it wasn't guaranteed._

**Kind of a long chapter, but everything I wanted to happen sort of did. So there's a little more insight to Remy and John's job and lots of John inner thought. Tell me what you think.**


	6. Down Hill Pull

Disclaimer: I don't own a thing

Title: Born for Bad Luck

By: Peanutbutter

"_Boys I'm most done travellin', Lord I'm at my journey's end_

_B'lieve I'm most done travellin', Lord at my journey's end_

_Well I been lookin' for me a good partner, bad luck is my best friend..."_

**(_Born for Bad Luck_ song by Brownie McGhee)**

**Chapter 6:** Down Hill Pull

" _There's an undercurrent somewhere, and I can't put my foot on land_

_Undercurrent somewhere, can't put my foot on land_

_I don't seem to nowhere no matter how hard I plan..."_

**_(Down Hill Pull song by _Victoria Spivey)**

* * *

**He perched** there for a second staring, eyes coasting over John, narrowing, widening at Rogue before they focused on Remy. Remy had been wondering how the guy knew he had Rogue, the controled look told him everything. Hair, claws, and snarl had followed his trail back to John's place, not hers. Happened to find the girl, but his goal, his real goal was to rip Remy limb from limb. Hairy leaped off the sill, claws glinting in the rising sunlight, catching the orange of the sky. He roared. Remy reached for the cards strewn across the table. He had a deck in his pocket but something told him that he was going to need a lot more ammo if he was getting out of this alive.

A tingle rushed up his arm and into the tips of his fingers, the card glowed magenta. Rogue jumped on Remy's arm. He pitched to the left the card flying wild. Remy watched it sail toward John. He grabbed Rogue's arm and squeezed. She was still as she watched the floating paper bomb. The card exploded between the clawed man and John. The blast threw John over the baseboard of his bed, ice flying, rope incinerated somewhere in the blast, and damn if the guy didn't keep coming. His claws were slashing, trying without effect to clear the smoke. John scrambled to his feet and back toward the door. His eyes were wide like he was looking on the ghost of his grandmother, or the voodoo queen of Louisiana. It wasn't all fear, but a mixture or appreciation and awe. Obviously John knew him. Maybe if he'd mentioned him before they would have avoided the situation, but it was too late for what ifs, there were too many to think about.

The girl started to struggle, pulling for the clawed man, calling out his name, twisting, trying to pull her gloves free. Remy had to hold her tighter, knowing he was bruising her, but he couldn't have her getting away, not just yet. They weren't quite done, even if Essex had the drive they needed to get out of town before the X-men found out about the files, about the red eyed man's involvement. He wasn't loosing this chance.

He threw another card. It exploded near the hairy man, but didn't stop him.

"Aim for his face," John called as he ran up beside him a ball of fire already forming on his palm. "It's the only way we're getting away."

"John!" Rogue yelled and Remy jerked her hard, halting her cries and pulled her close to his side, tucking her against him. His other hand pulled cards out of his pocket.

John only glanced at Rogue for a moment before turning back to Remy. "He regenerates. We have to hit him fast and quick before he had time to recover."

Remy pulled the cards three cards out charging them as the man approached. John threw fire balls. They lit on the man's clothes but fizzled after a few seconds. John got was getting hot the heat from his flames growing with each toss. He was building toward something big and Remy had to make sure he was there to help him. They had one chance to get out, and even then it wasn't guaranteed.

He took John's advice and threw the card; directing it toward the wild man's face. He knocked it away, avoiding the blast by millimeters. His hand took the brunt of the damage, flesh peeled back, blood running down his forearm, but it wasn't enough. Remy could see the flesh knitting together. Rogue was whimpering in his hold, still struggling. He tried again. The second hit it's mark. There was a spray of blood, and a howl. He couldn't see the damage through the blast of fire from John fingers. Rogue screamed, and the wild man fell to the floor, with a sickening, wet, slap.

They ran, like the devil himself was after them.

Rogue was hysterical, screaming, digging her feet into the floor, trying to stop their escape. Remy didn't have to look at her to know she was crying. Her voice was choked, raspy with wet coughs and gravely screams. He pulled hard, knocking her off balance. She pitched toward the floor and Remy caught her before she hit using her momentum to propel them forward. John was already down the stairs, jumping from the top of each six step interval to the flat concrete slab in between. Remy followed suit, Rogue slung over his shoulder.

He was going to have to compensate for Rogue's weight, her struggling. Clenching his teeth, he tried to figure out how to land without breaking something. His feet landed upright, but he couldn't stay on the balls of his feet. Rogue kicked him in the stomach and bit his shoulder. His feet slapped onto the ground flat. Pain shot through his legs to his back, making him gasp. He grabbed her feet clutching them to his chest. She was still biting him. He was sure she was seconds from tearing a hunk of flesh off his shoulder. He slapped at her before he made the next jump, but she was biting harder.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs he heard footsteps pounding down the hallway. He burst into the street, John had a car hot wired and revved to go. Remy started for it and stopped. There were sirens. John heard them too.

"Split up!" He yelled.

John frowned and shook his head, no.

The sirens were louder and the front door to the apartment complex shattered. Remy jumped for the car. He slammed the door and John took off. He was flung to the side Rogue smashed between him and the door. She was still. Remy rolled off her, ignoring her as he looked at John. He was hitting eighty weaving through New York, cutting off cars, running lights.

"Slow down."

John didn't look over his shoulder. "Dammit, do you know who that was?" He went faster. A car honked and swerved.

Remy was flung sideways but caught himself before he hit Rogue, "De cops already lookin' for us, stop tellin' dem where we are!"

He slowed a bit, "That was Wolverine, we're lucky to be alive."

"Kinda figured dat on my own." He put his hand on his shoulder, wincing he felt the bruise the girl's teeth had left on him. Clawed on one side bruised on the other. "You know where ta go, homme?"

John nodded, "Yeah," he paused, "we should have gone there last night."

"Shoulda done alotta t'ings." He answered and leaned against the cold leather seat content to let John drive. His brain was spinning in overdrive. Was all this worth it? He thought of the bottle, his life, his dept, his honor. He could see his father standing over him, face impassive, stern, he was shaking his head. Remy ducked resting his forehead against the cold glass and closed his eyes.

The girl sniffled. He rolled around his eyes falling on the girl, bathed in sunlight, half hidden by her hair. She was crying, silent, eyes closed, tears, fat, wet and large rolling down her already soaked cheeks. He didn't know why it bothered him so much. Just a girl, just a stupid girl who had screwed up his plans and nearly gotten him killed. He reached for her. He didn't know how his touch could comfort her, or even why he was trying. Millimeters from her shoulder, she flinched flattening herself against the door. Remy withdrew his arm.

The day passed with varying degrees of light and dark, oranges, pinks, blues, and dull grays. Through it all they drove in silence though John had tried to talk, saying something about uncomfortable silences and turning the radio on. Remy was almost sure he was trying to get a reaction out of them because he turned it up loud, nodding his head to the beat he didn't seem to care about anyone else in the car.

The girl, Remy looked at her every few minutes unable to keep himself from it, had stopped crying. Her cheeks where still red, her hair a tangled mess, but her mouth. It had been a frown, pouting, broken, trembling, now it was hard, straight, and flat. She was planning something. That tight mouth just proved her resolve. She was going to run first chance she got. They tied her hands half way there. She sat for it, stared him in the eyes while he did it, refused to give in to him, refused to speak. After that he got into the front seat.

She fell asleep when they were nearly there, mouth relaxed, face paled slightly. He watched the light play over her face, watched her chest rise and fall, thought about the way she played cards, the small unwilling smiles she had given him, the sound of her tears, it was then he decided he was thinking too much and turned his attention to the radio.

* * *

**Water splashed** against her heated skin, cascading down her cheeks and neck, wetting the collar of John's shirt. It felt good. She did it again scrubbing her face lightly with her palms, trying to rub the plastic feeling from her face. She stretched her mouth open and closed before splashing the water again.

"Hurry up!"

Rogue glared at the door and kicked it for good measure. The boom resounded through the small tile room, bouncing off the squared walls. She imagined it was louder to her than him. "Shut up!" She yelled through the door. She wasn't worried about him coming in, it was locked, but it had been hard to keep him out of the bathroom. He had told he was coming with her, winking lewdly, damn John. He had changed his mind when he found out it was a one room stall. He was reluctantly in the gas station hallway. Remy was pumping gas.

John started to whistle, some aimlessly, toneless song. He beat on the door with the music he whistled. The hits varied in volume and frequency, but he kept some sort of steady beat. He was bored, probably about to start yelling again. He was making so much damn noise the clerk was sure to come back in a moment. She started for the door her fingers closing around the cold knob. She paused, it hit her sweet and cool it rushed over her body cooling her instantly her face drying. Her eyes followed the path of air to a small window. She swallowed. John was still beating on the door. She had time.

She jumped onto the toilet and reached. The tips of her fingers closed under the sill and she pushed. The window hadn't been opened in a long time, layers of paint cemented it to the sill, but she pushed harder. Somewhere between John's pounding fists it cracked. The noise was loud and Rogue almost stopped fearing he had heard it, had figured it out, but he was still whistling. She pushed up again the window broke free from the paint and slid upward, the cool air hit her full force. The opening wasn't big, she'd have to squeeze but it was possible. She'd be gone before the idiot figured it out.

She laid her palms flat on the tiled sill and pushed up, her toes barely touched the toilet seat and it was then she noticed the pounding had stopped. Her heart raced. Was he coming in? She turned toward the door, but it was still shut.

"Are you on the rag! Hurry up!"

"Asshole," she yelled back. He didn't respond with words, but started whistling again.

She pushed her torso through the window. Her feet dangled heavily on the wall and she scrambled for purchase on the slick tile. Her shoulders scraped the edge of the window. She bit her lip and pushed. She was falling face first toward the ground, not the best decent but she hadn't thought about that when she started out. She pushed again her legs sliding though easily and held her arms out to brace herself. Her tips where a few inches from the ground. She wiggled side to side. Her feet slipped through, clipping the glass as she slid toward the ground. Her hands caught her and she forced herself into a roll.

Back against hard ground she winced when a piece of glass worked it's way into her palm. She was free. There was no yelling behind the door, so John was still there, oblivious. She peeked around the edge of the building. Remy was no where in sight. The car was sitting by the pump, alone. She raced for it. The air hit her face as she ran, her blood pumping, her fingers shaking. She opened the door and slipped into the driver's seat. The keys were still in the ignition, dangling, her salvation. She cranked the car. The gas gage was on full.

"Hey!"

Rogue looked over her shoulder. Remy was running toward the car. She hit the gas.

"Rogue, non, dis isn' de way!" His palms hit the door. Rogue panicked and pulled onto the road ignoring the oncoming traffic. Tires squealed as the other cars braked, horns blared, but she didn't care. A laugh burst from her lips shaking her body. She looked over her shoulder. Remy was throwing his arms up pacing in the lot and John was running out of the gas station. She lost sight of them around a curve and smiled.

**The end of this chapter. The story is a little off to me, but I plan to fix most of that next chapter. There are some conversations I want to happen, that I think will be able to come to the page next time, or at least lay the ground work for them. So tell me what you think.**

* * *

**Preview for Chapter 7**

_She'd been in a car accident before, with Logan, stuck in her seat, afraid she would burn. It was then she'd seen him regenerate, been afraid and relieved all at the same time, but this was different. She was alone, the streets were dark and other than she had hit something Rogue had no idea what was going on. There was smoke and a face dancing in front of her. Hair, fangs, foul breath, she tried to pull away, but the figure reached for her. Claws dug into her side as she was lifted out of the car. _

_A voice, low and nonthreatening in volume, but the tone sent chills running throughout her body reached her ears. She struggled knowing that whoever it was she had to get away. The claws dug in into her stopping movement. She was forced to listen to his voice. _

"_So this is the little Rogue, the girl who messed up my plans and fooled with my puppets."_

_Rogue shook, it was him, the man who had invaded her dreams with bleeding eyes, Nathaniel Essex._


	7. Positive Thinking

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Title: Born For Bad Luck

By: Peanutbutter

"_Boys I'm most done travellin', Lord I'm at my journey's end_

_B'lieve I'm most done travellin', Lord at my journey's end_

_Well I been lookin' for me a good partner, bad luck is my best friend..."_

**(_Born for Bad Luck_ song by Brownie McGhee)**

**Chapter 7: **Positive Thinking

"..._Now you think you're awfully smart_

_And that I am just a fool_

_You got a lot of things to learn, you got to_

_Play according to the rules..."_

_**(Positive Thinking **_**song written by Big Al**

**Ha! I finally got this out despite some problems I was having. So I hope you guys like it. Tell me what you think. I appreciate every review I get. Thank you guys so much for reading and telling me what you think it inspires me to do better, or at least to try harder. Thanks again!. **

* * *

**John was** chain smoking. The pile by his feet was growing larger by the minute, because, at the moment, Remy was chain smoking as well. The cloud around their heads swirled and blew away with the breeze, but the smell lingered around them, sinking into their clothes, calming their bodies to a mere hum of the roaring rage that had been building inside.

John was incapable of speaking in full sentences. Remy had resorted to answering in the same.

"Drive?" He asked taking a long pull on the cigarette between his lips, already knowing the answer. Remy was without his coat. He kept everything in that damn coat. He closed his eyes as his lungs filled and he blew the smoke out through his nose, afraid to open his mouth.

"Alle."

John didn't know what the hell the word meant, but he didn't have to. It was enough to let him known the drive was gone.

"Window?"

That was a low blow. Sure he'd seen the damn window, but it was fucking tiny and she was, she was. John slumped further his back hitting the convenient store wall. She was tiny, plenty tiny enough to squeeze through that window.

"Keys?" He wanted to play, John had his own ammunition. Who leaves the keys in the ignition.

Remy darkened and ground his cigarette into the sidewalk. He didn't say anything. Silence surround them. There was only the crackle as John pulled on his cigarette and the light fizzle as Remy lit his with the tip of his finger.

"We were supposed to meet Essex at ten this morning."

"Oui."

"We missed that by a lot."

"Oui."

"We're going to die aren't we." He didn't know why he asked it. He already knew the answer, but then again he'd known the answer to all the other questions he'd asked. Remy didn't say anything.

"You're the guys that had their car stolen?"

John looked up, scowling, as he finished his cigarette and cursed the fact that it was his last, and cursed more so that his money was in the car. He couldn't just steal a pack. They were behind the counter and peaty theft wasn't really his thing. If he was going to steal he was going to do it big, thats how he'd met Remy in the first place. John guessed Remy had a similar expression on his face because the man backed up a few steps before remembering that they were the victims.

"I, uh, I called the police. They're on their way."

Great, he didn't have the energy to fight. Remy stood and wrapped his arm around the man's shoulder, talking. John fell against the sidewalk ignoring the ache in his limbs and the weariness that was rushing over his body. He hadn't slept a night since they'd found Rogue. He was exhausted. Maybe that was why he'd underestimated the brunette with the white stripe. She had told him she was resourceful, something from their days in the danger room. He had hated it when she was put on his team, if only because he thought he was bound to loose, or end of up unconscious on the floor. His fears had been unfounded. Rogue was very able. She was agile and quick, smart, and her powers sometimes just secondary to her natural ability. He'd forgotten about that. Focused on the girl who had given up her powers for a boy, but that wasn't Rogue, had never been her. Rogue was a fighter, and he'd forgotten that.

Something hit him in the chest and John opened his eyes vaguely aware that he had been near drifting off. Had someone come to arrest him. Was he going to jail? A laugh really, because John wasn't going to go anywhere he didn't want to.

"Une voiture."

More French, back to one and two word answers, and questions. He was too tired to think of anything to say back. He reached toward his chest. He sat up fingers closing over the cold metal, keys?

"What's this?"

"Already answered dat," Remy winked, "de clerk was nice enough ta give us a loaner."

"Really?"

Remy shrugged, "Loaner is une loose descri'tion."

"Right," John jumped to his feet. "Lets get out of here."

* * *

**The day **passed in hues, greens, blues, grays. At the moment it was passing through a red, pinks, yellows and oranges, as the day passed away and welcomed night. Rogue didn't like the night. It wasn't just the beginning of night, twilight, that was was in now that bothered her. It was the silence of eleven thirty and after. Everything went dead in her apartment building. The lights were out, like everyone that lived there had a curfew. There wasn't any yelling or loud music, screaming, laughing, just dead. At night Rogue would sit up and think.

At the mansion it had been impossible to get a steady nights sleep. There was always someone up. She used to sneak out of her room and meet up with Bobby and John after hours. They wouldn't do anything, not really. John smoked a few cigarettes and she had a few beers. They laughed about the rules, laughed about life, and their future. When John left it was just her and Bobby. It was different, empty, but they did it anyway. The weirdness eventually wore off, replaced with cautious touches and blushing smiles.

When she'd given up her powers she'd expected there to be more to their nightly escapes. There was but it was hard, hard to touch him without being scared, and hard for Bobby to accept the life she had given up. Bobby had wanted touch, had been thrilled to receive it, but not necessarily by her. A mere four months after her powers had left Bobby was sneaking out with someone else.

There was something about those nights that she'd never told either one of her companions. She liked to stay up, even if it meant missing class, or being exhausted in the danger, and now exhausted a work because at night she dreamed. For some dreaming was an escape, not for her. She never dreamed her own dream the psyches chose that time to live. They filled her mind with memories, happy, sad, angry, but all of them false and she'd wake up missing those lives she'd never lived, wanting the ambitions she'd never tried for. It was depressing, enraging, and scary.

When her powers had come flooding back the anxiety surrounding sleep was worse. She thought about the things she should have done, the things she hadn't when her powers were gone. She didn't know the cure was temporary, if she had... There were wasn't enough time to think of everything she would have done, but she tried to. So at night she liked to go over them, one by one until the minds of everyone she touched took over her dreams.

The car started to rattle. Rogue looked at the gas gage where the gas light was blinking in warning. She was near empty, but she didn't want to stop. She pushed the petal harder, trying to ignore the little yellow light, to get closer to the city and further from John and Remy. It blinked, beeped, and Rogue pulled onto the next exit promising a refuel. She had no money, a thorough search of the car gave her the drive, full of the information stolen from Xavier's, and a dollar ten. She couldn't get home on a dollar ten, but she called for help, and the Morlocks would be safe.

The phone rang nearly ten times before someone answered.

"Xavier's School for the gifted young... Hey! Don't do that! Your power, uh gift isn't for," he trailed off again yelling at someone else. His voice was steady, but Rogue could detect the panic in it. He was about to scream, shrill and too high pitched for a man in his twenties. She almost let him get there before she cut in.

"Bobby, it's meh."

There was silence on his end, the children around him continued to be loud, laugh, and something crashed. Bobby didn't react to any of it.

"Shit," there was a chorus of 'ohhs' in the background, "Rogue where are you at?"

"It's a long story, but Ah need someone to pick meh up my car ran out of gas."

"Um," Bobby paused, "I thought, I mean how'd you get away."

"Ah told you, Bobby, it's crazy," She wanted to see him then just to have someone familiar to talk to. She wanted to tell him about John, about Remy, about Essex, and the Morlocks, and how Sabertooth was involved, but there was too much and she was suddenly exhausted. She slumped against the phone booth her forehead cooling against the chilled metal of the phone cradle.

"Rogue," tentative, worried, he asked about her.

For a few moments she wished there was more than sisterly concern in his voice, a moment of nostalgia brought on by stress, she was sure. "Ah'm here, just Ah don't know if they're coming after meh. Ah want to get outta here."

"Right," He paused, covered the receiver but she could still hear him shouting muffled instructions. Bobby tended to flounder when there when there were too many kids around, but he knew how to take command when he needed to. Something he always claimed he got from Scott. She gave him her location.

"Rogue, Logan's out looking for you already, coming the fu, um, freaking city."

Her heart swelled as she remembered the blood and his fall. She knew he was alright, had heard him coming behind them, but she needed to ask. "Is he..."

"He's fine," Bobby answered before she could get out the question. "I'm just sorry that he didn't slice John into pieces and that other guy..." he trailed off again.

Rogue swallowed, "I thought John was dead." She had just been thinking about them sneaking out about the fun they'd had. Maybe this time sleep would be a good thing.

"Rogue I knew he wasn't."

Rogue opened her closed eyes and pulled her slumped body upright, "What are you talking about? You told me..."

"Yeah, I did, but..."

There was a scuffle and Bobby was gone, for a second she thought her money had run out and she reached into her pocket to drop in another quarter, but a voice came over the phone.

"Rogue, thank God, I mean I was freaking out!"

Kitty Pryde the girl she had been so jealous of was now one of her best friends. "Hey Kitty, Ah'm fine."

"Fine, fine! You called being kidnapped by psychopaths fine!"

"Kitty give me the phone back!" Bobby complained in the background. Kitty ignored him. Rogue smiled. She was about to break it up when her receiver beeped, damn.

"Guys, my times running out, alright, are you on your way."

"Rogue, sorry, it's Bobby, we'll be there in less than an hour. Just stick it out and stay out of sight. We're bringing you home."

Rogue was going to say bye but the mention of home made her think of John. How had Bobby known he was still alive? She was going to ask but the connection died and all that was left was a dial tone. She could call back, but decided to save her quarters she'd ask him later.

A yawn stretched her face and made her muscles clench. She closed her eyes and stretched her arms over her head trying to relieve the tension. The first thing she was going to do when she got home was sleep. She was so exhausted she didn't think she'd be able to dream, the psyches were tired too. She made her way to the car and crawled into the passenger's seat. She locked the doors and laid back, hopefully she'd be home soon. Absently he pulled Remy's coat from the back seat and draped it over her body. She just wanted to close her eyes, rest, but before she could stop herself sleep took over and the psyches proved they weren't that tired.

* * *

_Remy was talking to Essex, no, no, she was talking to Essex. He was smiling explaining something but it was garbled beyond recognition. Why couldn't she hear him. _

_I leaned closer, or tried to, the moment my fingers touched the table it glowed, red and sizzling. It tried to take it back, my fingers slipped on the surface refusing to work, refusing to take back the charge. The control I'd worked so hard for was slipping away. The panic only made it worse and all I could do was run backward as the table exploded dropping splinters like confetti all over the room. _

_My back hit the wall, wood embedded in my palms I knew I had no choice. _

"_Gambit'll do anyt'ing, as long as dis doesn't happen again." _

_Essex smiled, rows of filed teeth gleaming in the burning pile of his table. "My price is small, Mr. LeBeau, a little piece of you for my research, and a little use of your talents.  
I looked at the rubble, my mind racing. I could count on my hand the times my gut told me I was making a mistake. It had taken a few mistakes to recognize the waring. I usually listened. Something about this was bad. I looked away from him, trying to steal a moment to think. _

"_I promise you control, complete, total, and permanent." _

_I pushed the gut feeling away. I'd been blowing up everything. I couldn't work, couldn't sleep without the fear, my fingers were raw, scars over scars. I forced myself to look into the cold man's eyes. My body hummed with fear. I pushed it away.  
"Dat sound like a deal. So we shake on it or ya get right to de cutting?" _

* * *

Rogue jerked her eyes flying open. She was Rogue, not Gambit, Rogue. She took a breath trying to calm her racing pulse. The dreams never failed. She sat up pushing the coat down her arms and rubbing her eyes. Maybe there were already there. She looked out the window. The florescent signs promising beer blinded her for a moment. She shut her eyes and turned the key in the ignition. The time flashed back at her when she force her lids open. She had only been asleep for twenty minutes. She fell backward her head hitting the head rest and tried to push Essex's face out of her mind, and Remy's mind away from hers. It was hard to do, especially when she wanted to know what it was he was promising and just what Essex was taking.

There was a knock on the window. A man was looking through the glass, grinning, he made a rolling motion. Rogue reached for the handle and rolled the window down a crack.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing really," the man grinned. He was Asian, Korean maybe, with soft dark hair. His eyes were dancing.

"Is there somethan wrong?"

He just smiled, "I got a message for you."

"What," she trailed off when he shook his head.

"You've made things very hard for my boss."

Rogue squirmed out from under Remy's jacket and into the driver's seat. The X-men would be there soon, but she didn't know if she had that much time. She cranked the car. It roared to life.

"I wouldn't do that." The man chuckled and lay his hand flat on the hood. It was only there for a second before Rogue pealed out of the parking space and headed for the road. A car pulled out after her. It was useless. She was nearly on empty. Her best bet was to stay near the station, hope the X-men were close. She had a feeling she knew just who the Koren man's boss was.

It was then the steering wheel locked up. It wouldn't turn. The car started to sputter, the brakes refused to work. Rogue tugged on the wheel frantically but it wouldn't budge. There was a pop. The hood started to smoke. The road curved and her hands flew in front of her face when the tree loamed into view.

She'd been in a car accident before, with Logan, stuck in her seat, afraid she would burn. It was then she'd seen him regenerate, been afraid and relieved all at the same time, but this was different. She was alone, the streets were dark and other than she had hit something, Rogue had no idea what was going on. There was smoke and a face dancing in front of her. Hair, fangs, foul breath, she tried to pull away, but the figure reached for her. Claws dug into her side as she was lifted out of the car.

A voice, low and nonthreatening in volume, but the tone sent chills running throughout her body. She struggled knowing that whoever it was she had to get away. The claws dug in into stopping movement. She was forced to listen to his voice.

"So this is the little Rogue, the girl who messed up my plans and fooled with my puppets."

Rogue shook, it was him, the man who had invaded her dreams with bleeding eyes, Nathaniel Essex.

"Scrambler, take care of her."

"Right," the Korean man from the gas station swam into view, "Sorry 'bout the car," he smiled and reached for her. "This bitch better not kill me."

Rogue tried to pull away but the claws were digging into her, forcing her still and every part of her ached. His fingers touched her, for a moment there was nothing, not even the pull of her powers. She tired to prepare herself for the onslaught of memories. He pushed against her skin. Her entire body erupted. Pain, fear, laughter, rage, pleasure, everything raced threw her body at once, nerves misfired her skin crawled, laughter bubbled in her throat.

The man screamed and the memories rushed over her instantly. There were too many, her body too confused. Lives fused together, men and woman blurred, her life began to fade. She could still feel his hand on her face. He was still screaming but her body refused to listen to her when she tried to pull away. She could do nothing but wait for darkness and it was a long time before the wave rushed over her.

* * *

**Poor Rogue, not again! Alas it had to happen because I kinda wrote myself into this. By the way just cuz I mentioned it this is not a Bobby and Rogue story. It's going to be Romy and a little bit Ryro. It's not a love triangle either so just keep reading to see how that plays out. I know it's not really there yet, just give it time to develop, uh, you have given it time, but theres just a little more. Sorry the update was so late and that there is no preview, but there will most definitely be an update next Monday. It won't be late again. I promise. :)**


	8. Messed up World

Disclaimer: I don't own a thing

Title: Born for Bad Luck

By: Peanutbutter

-I'm not much for this chapter, but that's probably because everything I really wanted to get to is in the next chapter. Stupid chapter necessary for plot progression. **As always thanks so much for all the reviews!**

"_Boys I'm most done travellin', Lord I'm at my journey's end_

_B'lieve I'm most done travellin', Lord at my journey's end_

_Well I been lookin' for me a good partner, bad luck is my best friend..."_

**(_Born for Bad Luck_ song by Brownie McGhee)**

**Chapter 8: Messed Up World**

_This is a crazy mixed up world_

_People it seems like one great big curse_

_This is a crazy mixed up world today_

_People it seems like one great big curse_

_Things gotta get better real soon_

_Cause they can't hardly get much worse_

**(_Messed Up World _song by E. Harrington)**

* * *

**They swarmed** around the exit ramp like bees to their hive. Remy thought they were caught when they pulled off the interstate. John had launched into cussing, punching the door, kicking the dash. He even knocked the latch off the glove compartment. Remy thought he'd really had lost his touch when the police motioned him over and asked him to roll down his window. He cursed his give away eyes and tried to look innocent.

The cop scowled mustache covering his top lip as he hissed and took a step backward. "Oh," he snarled, "You're with them."

Remy quirked a brow unsure if it was safe to agree or not. He was sure it had something to be with him being a mutant, bastard, but he didn't know at the moment if mutants were the cause of the trouble.

"They're parked by the gas station, waiting. You can get to them over there." He pointed over his shoulder, flashlight swinging, casting an arch over the dark sky. "Tell them we still don't know anything."

"Sure t'ing," Remy winked and rolled his window up. He didn't now what the hell the guy was talking about, whatever it was it had helped them. They needed gas anyway. They car they'd swiped after stealing the gas station worker's had been near on empty.

Most of the police were surrounding a car, blue, long nosed Buick. His stomach rolled it's familiarity striking him instantly. Remy let his attention linger on the wreckage. The front was smashed against a tree. The doors were ripped off on the driver and passenger sides, twisted blue metal and cloth. One door was some twenty feet from the wreck. The grass on either side of tires was ruptured, huge divots dug into the dirt. He held his breath.

"Shit, Remy, stop." John cursed and put his arm on the dash to brace himself.

Remy turned back to the road, his foot slamming onto the brake lurching the car violently forward. His seat belt caught him flinging him back into the seat. They stopped just shy of the bumper in front of them.

"What the hell?"

Remy ignored John and looked toward the wreckage again. His eyes narrowed. They were taking things out of the car, putting them in bags. They pulled out a coat, long, dark, and leather, shit. That was their car, the car Rogue had been driving. Why was it slammed into a tree, and where was she?

"Uh, Remy, don't pull in there."

Remy forced himself back to John. "Que?"

"English, Remy, fucking English!"

Remy narrowed his eyes. John was a little touchy. "I said 'what'."

"It's the damn X-men. Turn the car around."

Remy looked into the lot where John pointed. Five people stood in a line watching the crime scene. None of them were familiar except for the short man with the wild hair and leather jacket. He was smoking a cigar, pacing in front of the group. So that was who the police were talking about. He yanked the wheel to the left ignoring the blinking gas light. The car squealed as he forced it into a u-turn and headed for the entrance ramp.

"De girl wit dem?"

"What are you..." John started.

"De, girl, Rogue, dat her car."

John looked at the wreckage and back to the line. "I don't see her, but she could be somewhere else, inside maybe."

"You t'ink she'd still be dere, dat dey'd 'till be dere. Somet'ing happened." His mind raced. Something was forming, something he didn't really want to think about. They'd spent too much time worrying about the X-men and not enough worrying about Essex.

"What are you talking about?"

They pulled onto the interstate. The cops were too busy to bother with them; the X-men too worried with something else, or maybe with the same thing. The difference was Remy knew what had happened to Rogue. It should have been a good thing. His boss had her, probably had the drive, so job well done. He swallowed for some reason he didn't think that was going to be the case.

"We need ta get in touch wit Essex."

"Yeah, like that's new." John looked over his shoulder. "What do you think happened to her?"

The question only required a one word answer. "Essex."

There was no exclamation of surprise, or cussing. John was surprisingly silent. He cleared his throat and pointed out another gas station exit. "We should make it another mile, right."

Remy nodded.

John was filling up the car while he stalked toward the pay phone to make the call. He really should have a cell phone, one of those cheep throw away minute bought plans. Besides he was sure there was some unsavory cell phone provider for people in his line a work. A cellphone would have prevented him from making this call. Then again, not screwing up would have done the same thing.

* * *

**Remy pulled** out a cigarette, lighting the end with the tip of his finger, watching John pump gas. They didn't have a lot of money, just fifty he'd swiped from the attendant. They would have to make it back on that. Half way though his cigarette he reached for the phone, plucking it from the cradle and dropping in the quarters. He dialed the numbers he'd memorized in case of an emergency. He'd never had to use it before.

"Hello."

It was a girl, her voice sickeningly sweat. He swallowed, "Bonjour, petite, I need ta talk wit de Nathaniel Essex."

He imagined her smiling on the other end of the line, pearly white teeth flashing, vapid, and empty eyes. "Ah, Mister LeBeau," her voice hardened, "he's been expecting your call." His image of her grew fangs, maybe she wasn't that sweet after all.

He had to wait. John was leaning against the car. He threw his arms up in question. Remy shook his head. John disappeared into the store, probably after something to eat. Remy hadn't eaten anything since those flattened cheeseburgers.

"Mr. LeBeau."

Remy had to keep himself from flinching. The tone, though light had a way of scolding him. He could feel the man's eyes on him. Goose flesh rushed up his back bringing a cold chill with it. He gritted his teeth. "Essex, I t'ink we've had une petite problem."

He laughed, like nails on a chalkboard. "No, no I don't think there's a problem, not anymore. You keep some interesting company, LeBeau, very interesting."

"She's not'ing, de drive..."

"Was on her. She handed over with just a little coaxing. Sweet girl, interesting power."

Essex loved interesting. That was something Remy didn't want to think about. The girl had been annoying, self righteous, and fucking trouble, but it wasn't her fault. He had never meant for her to fall into Essex's hands. He squeezed the phone, knuckles whitening.

"De deal needs a little adjustment." Remy thought of the original plan. He wasn't going to get out of this with what he wanted, not this time.

"The deal stands, Mr. LeBeau, with just few adjustments. The girl stays and you do me one more favor. With the X-men threatening to come after you I think it might be a good deal to take. You compromised me."

The receiver cracked in his fist, plastic flaking off and falling around his feet. He wanted to his life back. He would be free, but he'd have to sacrifice her. A girl he barely new, had hardly talked to, a girl that he had no history with , would probably never have met if it hadn't been for John. She was nothing. One favor and the girl and he was free, his honor intact, his life his again. He swallowed and closed his eyes. There was only one choice.

"Where do we meet."

"At the lab Remy. You get what you want and I tell you the favor."

His feet felt heavy as he trudged back to the car. He was suddenly tired, like it had finally caught up to him. He hadn't slept in days, his shoulder was aching, his legs ached. He wanted to sleep, bury his face in his blanket and ignore the sunshine. He wanted to be back in New Orleans, greeting the bayou, baring the humidity, fighting with his brother, his father...

"So what's going on?" John asked as Remy slid into the driver's seat and shut the door.

The silence was thick, awkward, heavy. He cranked the car. "We're goin' in, t'night, he wants t' keep Rogue. We can' let dat happen." Essex could have the drive and he already had his team. They'd done there job, mostly, but Rogue wasn't part of the deal.

* * *

**The alarm** sounded, ringing loudly in his still tired ears. Remy smacked the clock and ran his hand over his face and shook his head. His hair slapped his face mercilessly, and for the first time in the two hours they had alloted for sleep he felt tired. He had been the one who insisted on the sleep, that they couldn't pull it off tired with slow reflexes. It had been too long since they'd eaten, slept, done anything but run. John had been out as soon as his head hit the hotel bed. Snoring, mouth agape, shoes still on his feet. Remy had pulled the sneakers off and seat the clock.

He had tried to to sleep. Laid down under the covers, over them when he was hot, under them again, but sleep refused to come. He closed his eyes and tried to force it, but all he could think about was Essex's lab, the blood stained floor, scrubbed to a dull brown, spots too dark to be old, his sharpened teeth and haunting eyes. In all of that he thought of Rogue, suffering, plagued because of him, someone else paying for his mistakes. His eyes flashed to Bella, Julian, Genevieve, his brother, his father, his Tante... The list was endless, he was useless.

So he sat up, running over strategy, again and again, memorizing blue prints, checking his equipment, cards. He took a shower, washing the dirt and sweat from two days away. After that he still had an hour left. He still wasn't tired. He smoked, one after the other, until his pack was empty, and he felt the after effects of too much smoke, no food, and no sleep settle on his stomach. It was about then the alarm sounded and he felt defeated.

John was still sleeping, sprawled on his back, arms flung out, chest rising and falling slowly. He had moved once the entire time he slept, to roll from his side to his back. Remy got to his feet and walked to his side. He pushed the sleeping man with his hand. John rolled away from his fingers, mumbling. Remy shoved harder.

"John," he called.

John waved him away. Remy picked his foot off the floor and pushed it into John's back and shoved. John rolled, his eyes flying open just as he rolled off the bed and hit the floor. It would have been funny if Remy wasn't so tense. He was on his feet in an instant, ready to launch himself across the bed and onto Remy.

"It's time to go."

John deflated, fists unballing ,face falling, dead pan. "Right."

The fact that John let the shove slide was evidence enough, he was nervous too.

It was two am when they reached the sparling warehouse that served as Essex's base of operations. Remy had only been there one time, weak and desperate, he had vowed to never go back.

"De goal is stealth," Remy reminded his partner. John was adjusting the straps on his makeshift fuel pack. The one he usually sported was locked somewhere in the remains of his apartment. John ignored him. "Dat doesn' mean blowing stuff up."

John shot him the bird. "Don't be an asshole Remy. I might have to sacrifice your life to get myself out safely and I don't want that to be the last thing I say to you." He grinned unable to hold back his good humor. "I want that to be 'you're a prick LeBeau'."

"Dat before or after y' start cryin'?"

"Sometime after you stumble and blow off your own foot," he answer matter a factly. "Enough with this touchy feely shit. We've got a big, bad, bastard to piss off, he did steal our hostage."

They fell into silence, the radio's in their ears only for emergencies. They were going in by way of the air ducts. Entrance would be easy. The place was, after all, a medical research facility, sanctioned and covered, nobody was trying to break in. It have off the appearance of complete legitimacy. It was the inside that would give them problems. Getting out was going to be a bitch.

* * *

**Her world** was swirling, tumbling, refusing to come together. There were flashes of coherency, or what she thought was, but she couldn't be sure. She wasn't even sure who she was. There were too many people pushing, shoving, and demanding control. Her head was too full.

"She did quite a number on Scrambler, knocked him out of nearly five hours."

She turned her head toward the voice, he swirled and doubled before she closed her eyes, afraid she was going to be sick. That was right someone had touched her, had made the voices get confused. She remembered that. Scrambler was the reason everything was so hard to put together. What had he done to her?

"The effects are only supposed to last as long as he touches the object. He held onto her for only a few minutes, but the effects are still going."

The voice grabbed her head, prying her eye open. A light shone in her eye shrinking her pupil. She tried to pull away, but something surged through her, wild and primal. She snapped at the hand, teeth bared. She wanted to rip the voice apart, tear him up, kill him. She pulled, buckles straining, forcing her into the table.

"Her brain is going crazy, so many parts lighting up at once. I wonder how long it will go on."

The surge passed, she calmed confused, but scared. The wild man wanted control, demanded it, but he had to get in line, there were so many more competing for the same thing. Someone else surged, hot and angry. Her body heated, her fingers sweating. She felt like something should be happening, something more than her body burning.

"Her temperature..." The voice trailed off intrigued. "I wonder, I wonder who she has touched. We already now the extent of her powers. Skin on skin draws the powers and memories from the victim, but how long do they last? What happens when contact is extended past a few minutes?"

A laugh escaped her lips, unbidden and frightening as she tried to stop it. Another was taking charge, old, white haired, and crazy. He thought the voice was funny. She forced her mouth shut, stopped the laugh, and started to struggle. She needed to get out, get away.

"Hmm, perhaps this will be better when the effects of Scrambler's touch have worn off. Give her something to calm her, make her sleep. Put her away until she becomes coherent."

She tried to fight the prick of the needle, the rush of liquid, painful and thick, into her vein, but it was impossible. She whimpered when her eyes grew heavy. A loud buzzing rushed her ears before everything went black.

"Well, well, well, this is something I didn't expect."

She tried to hold onto the voice, figure out what the noise was, but it was too much, her body too heavy, too weak. Darkness engulfed her and the voices began to fight again dragging her down with them.

* * *

**So there it is. It's a little short, but the rest is too long to put with this. Besides some good stuff is coming up. Remy and John decided to do a good thing. Yay them. We'll see how long that lasts. **

**Preview for Chapter 9 **

_...Magneto sealed the deal, promised him something he never thought he'd have, control, power, status. He ignored the conflicting parts of his brain and focused on the anger. Somewhere in there he'd let his mind catch up with his actions and tried to go back, but it was too late by then. He had his lot in life. He was one of the bad guys. He'd never been cut from the mold of a hero. Not a Bobby, perfect from birth, or Scott, or even freaking Wolverine. He was hopeless. _

"_What are you doing here?" _

_John shoved his sweating palms into his pockets forcing himself to be calm. Bobby wasn't. There was frost forming on his fingers steam curling out of his mouth and nose as he breathed. Bobby had once been the only person he trusted, now Bobby was enemy, and all of it was his fault. _

"_Chill, iceboy, I came here to talk, not fight." _

"_Sonova bitch, you kidnapped Rogue, who knows what else you're up to." Ice was forming in his palm. _

"_Forget the act, nobody's here to see it," John spat, so much for being civil. "Besides I have something you want." _

_He paused eyes melding from solid to hazel. "Talk." He straightened his jaw throwing out his chest. "If you've hurt one hair on her head." The hero trip really was nauseating. _

_John rolled his eyes, "Why do you care anyway. She's not your girlfriend anymore." _

_Bobby narrowed his eyes. John nearly grinned. _

"_Something about you not being man enough downstairs." _

"_You sorry bastard!" The stream of ice was wholly unexpected but it was surprising how fast it could travel the fifty feet between them. John barely had time to pull out his lighter and melt the stream. He jumped out of the way before Bobby could send another blast. Bobby was strong, but John hadn't spent the last four years sitting on his ass. He had some new tricks to show the all-star. _

"_You forget I didn't come here to fight," Bobby pulled his hand back, frost melting. John pushed his luck and added, "Dumbass." _

**Finally here come the X-men. The quote comes somewhere in the middle of the next chapter. Just so you know a lot of stuff happens before we get to this part. **


	9. Life, Love, and Money

Disclaimer: I don't own a thing

Title: Born for Bad Luck

By: Peanutbutter

"_Boys I'm most done travellin', Lord I'm at my journey's end_

_B'lieve I'm most done travellin', Lord at my journey's end_

_Well I been lookin' for me a good partner, bad luck is my best friend..."_

**(_Born for Bad Luck_ song by Brownie McGhee)**

**Chapter 9: Life, Love, and Money**

"_Life has made me_

_Pay an awful price_

_I tried to gamble with ya_

_But you was using crooked dice_

_Somebody gotta suffer_

_Somebody sure gotta feel some pai__n_

_If it's gonna rain down misery_

_How come it always fall on me?"_

_**(Life,Love, and Money by Dixon and Glover)**_

* * *

****

**Read me!: So yeah, it's been a while. It's not my fault, really. It was an Internet problem, problem with my card, my server, my everything. It just refused to work and refused to get fixed, so I'm late, yeah, but the good thing is that I'm back and there will another chapter on Thrus. to make up for the update I missed. I think you guys for reading and I apologize again. **

* * *

**John forced** the flame to extinguish, and closed his eyes his back pushed against the wall. He forced his mind off the fight. They weren't there to fight, no he was there to kidnap Rogue from their boss, and, wait, keep her hostage while their boss's plans played out? He shook his head. No, no focus, they were getting Rogue out, that was all he could think about because everything else was spinning his head in circles.

They flew past him toward the direction Remy had gone. He didn't know who had set off the alarm, but it was damn inconvenient. They had been careful, as careful as they could be with barely five hours prep time. Usually he wasn't into planning their jobs. He got bored listening to Remy talk about breaking codes, disarming alarms, hoping over laser motion detectors. Just give him the climax, the thrill, and a little fight in between and he was happy. Remy made stealing shit into some sort of religious act.

Another group rushed past. John held his breath when he recognized the front runner, Sabertooth, broad backed and growling was leading a band of mutants. The very mutants he'd help Remy contact and organize. He frowned. He knew just how lethal each member was, their powers, and their weaknesses. He itched to step in front of them, test his theories; get rid of the nervous energy coursing through his body. Let Remy be the hero.

Fighting his instinct, John pushed himself further into the shadows, stepped backward, soft soled shoes silent on the hard floor, they ran past. He clenched his fist activating the flame thrower. A small ball of light formed around his hand, engulfing his skin in an tingling warmth. Cursing, he turned on his heel and headed in the opposite direction. He was supposed to find Rogue, there was a plan, stealth was the key.

* * *

**He had **one job to do. He was supposed to get John the security codes, tell him exactly where Rogue was, when he found out that was. He was in the lab, could see the computer, was almost at his goal, but somehow, someone, had tripped an alarm. He could blame John, but his vision had been blurring since he stepped foot in the facility. He was tried and off is game. He could done it.

They filed in looking, Sabertooth sniffing. He hated being out of the action but it had been his decision to put him in front of the computer. John couldn't sit still long enough to hack, or be out of the action long enough to get anything done. So even though Remy was more adept at stealth, more equipped to break Rogue out, he was stuck here, surrounded by his enemies; forced to keep his mouth shut and hold his breath. All for the sake of the plan, his plan, for stealth.

Screw stealth. This once and only this once he was too tired to follow the plan. Besides if he sat crouched in the shadows much longer one of two things would happen. He would either fall asleep, blissful since his eyes had suddenly gone heavy and he was unable to control the yawning, or the second scenario which was directly related to the first. He would fall asleep slumped against a cabinet, drooling on his black shirt, and Sabertooth would pull him out and rip him to pieces. He'd have to leave John to finish the job. Really that wasn't an option. So he was going to have to break the rules.

He stood. They were in front of him oblivious of him, for the moment. There was a second where he could have slipped out the door and down the hall, and stuck to the plan. He reached into his coat, pulled out his boe staff. Silently, it extended to it's full length his other hand pulled free a few cards. Grained metal in one hand, slick plastic in th other, he grinned.

"Dis a private party?" He asked. They whirled around comical as all five did it at the same time. The hackles of Sabertooth's back rose. "Or is de Gambit invited."

Those were the only words he got out before he was rushed by all five. He laughed, disembodied, hollow as he jumped onto the lab table, smashing glass, scattering papers. His staff twirled catching the big cat across the face, titanium rung against bone, but it hardly fazed the beast. Remy's fingers flew to his pocket pulling out a card while he pushed the end of his staff into Scrambler's stomach. The card dropped into the middle of the pack scattering them as it blew.

Remy ducked barely missing a swung fist. He bent backwards into a handspring and landed on the other side of the table. He shoved the counter top into two of the charging mutants. Lights started to flash, annoying, red, and almost guaranteed to give someone a seizure. As if the alarm hadn't been bad enough.

Vertigo and Scalphunter tumbled backwards with the force of the shoved table. Sabertooth was up again, recovered from the blast, claws extended out the ends of is fingers, eyes dilated as he charged. Gambit jumped backward and tossed more cards, trying to knock the big cat off his game. Sabertooth kept coming, ignoring his charred flesh and running blood.

Arclight was charging him too. Short black hair bouncing as she jumped over her fallen comrades and brushed past Sabertooth, ignoring his growling protest. Gambit swung his staff. The metal rod rushed past her shoulder as she dodged. She threw a punch. Gambit swiveled to the right avoiding the blow and struck again. This time the staff connected with her side throwing her off just enough to give him time to head for the door. His fingers were on the door when he felt the rumble. It rushed up his body, knocking him off balance. He hit the door his face knocking the knob. He tried to remain standing, but the shake increased. He fell, his knees hitting the floor. His staff rolled from his fingers into a lab table.

A glance over his shoulder confirmed that he hadn't been the only victim of Arclight's powers. The others were down too. She was grinning arms outstretched and heading straight for him. He scrambled toward his dropped staff fingers closing over cool metal when she hit him. The force was more than he expected, even when he knew what she was capable of. He sailed through the door, knocking it off it's hinges and hit the wall. His staff was left in the lab.

"You shouldn't have crossed us." She offered in sympathy and raised her arm to hit him again.

Gambit dodged her fist. Her arm buried in the plaster by his head as he rolled to his feet. She cursed and yanked it backward, but Gambit was already up. His ribs were aching, his head splitting, but he was whole. The others where probably already up. He needed to warn John and pull the five away from the cells he was sure Rogue was imprisoned in.

It only took one touch. Remy flinched as his body roared. He pulled backward, trying to shake the feeling. He felt like his skin was detaching from his muscle, the muscle from the bone. The touch had lasted less than a minute but that was all the time Sabertooth needed. They had all recovered faster than he'd thought possible.

Sabertooth's fist was like a brick smashing into his jaw. He flew backward his back slamming into the wall, denting it as he slipped back to the floor, trying to shake the dizzying array of misfiring nerves. A clawed hand fisted in the front of his shirt, pulling him to his feet. Remy gasped, tried to fight back, but his arms were aching, his skin still tingling.

"Interesting to find you here," the words rushed past his lips, garbled, growled, the animal inside his body taking over. Victor Creed had always had a very loose hold on his mutation. Over the years it seemed to have taken over body and soul he was becoming the animal he was named for. The others were silent, ornaments shimmering the background, desperate to come to the front, but afraid of the one in front.

Remy scrambled to hold onto something, anything, that he could charge. There was nothing. The big cats clawed hand closed around his neck and squeezed. Blackness rushed on him.

* * *

**The voices** stopped him, garbled, and loud followed by explosions. John called his friends name, but there was no response. The action kept on the noise reaching deafening levels until it ended with a screeching whine. The feedback made him yelp and jump as he pulled the ear piece out and dropped it to the floor. It was still whining as he rubbed his ear hoping he wasn't going to have permanent damage. He opened and closed his mouth several times trying to pop his ears. He reached for the still whining ear piece and pushed the small button that would have been near his lobe. The static and whine died.

John swallowed. Something had happened to Remy. There went his door codes, his directions, the fucking plan. He tried to be pissed at the cocky Cajun for dragging him into this, but he had been just as willing. Besides all this meant was that he was in charge, the mission was now his mission and stealth, he grinned, stealth was going to take a back seat, 'cause he was going to blow the entire building apart. Save the both of them.

Sparks rested on the ends of his fingers as he heard footsteps coming toward him. He could blow the plan wide open, take action. He paused the steps were getting closer, their voices louder. He knew them. He stood in the open fire dancing contemplating his next move. Just as they rounded the corner he slipped into the shadows, hiding down a darkened corridor, trying to avoid the flashing red lights.

The voices belonged to two men wearing lab coat, and holding stacks of folders nearly an inch think with papers. They worked there. He watched them for a moment before making up his mind. Maybe, this one, blowing things up wasn't the answer. He slipped into the hall, following. Maybe stealth was a good idea after all.

* * *

**Her powers** weren't working. She didn't know how she knew, it was like something was missing, like how she'd felt after the cure. Empty, hollow, it made her ache. Her mind was still scrambled, people popping up, trying to take over and her only barely able to push them away. The strongest psyches were wearing her out, even ones she hadn't thought about in years pushing, pulling, and slamming into the walls the Professor had helped her build, that she had painstakingly up held.

She didn't know how long she'd been out. All she really remembered was the car accident, that tree heading right for her. Everything else was a fractured blur. The pieces were too small and too many to put back together. She knew she'd slept because of the dreams, bits of memory had rushed over her when she slept combining and swirling together.

Scrambler was at the fore front, laughing, jabbing, memories filled with death and maniacal delight at the sight of blood. Then there was Gambit, still strong, hated being trapped, but he gave her memories she could live with, human, mistakes, but she felt emotion, a life. Scrambler, Sung, was empty, too broken by his past to be human. The others joined in, faces where they didn't belong, watching and commenting, fighting for their turn, for their story to be told. Her mind was exhausted, her body was still tired. She didn't know how long she could go on.

"You're awake, excellent."

Rogue looked up, hands spinning in the fabric of her shirt, twisting as she listened, fought the fear. Her door opened light flooding into the darkness, stinging her eyes. She pulled her shirt tighter. A man stepped through holding a needle. She stiffened.

"This is just a little something to help you relax."

He advanced, smiling. He flipped the switch on the wall turning on the lights as he shut the door behind him.

"Essex wants to talk to you."

He lunged for her without warning. Rogue moved, thankful for the danger room sessions and her quick reflexes. His hand flew out stopping his fall. She didn't hesitate. Her leg flew out catching him across the face. The needle skidded across the floor stopping on the wall to her right. The doctor grunted, falling onto his hands and groaned. She kicked again her foot digging into his stomach and knocking him onto his back. That's what he got for under estimating her. She ran for the needle. She'd give him a dose of his own medicine and get out.

The world started to spin. Rogue faltered. The syringe doubled, swirled and she was forced to close her eyes. She still felt like she was spinning. Her stomach heaved, empty but still angry. She fell her knees striking the floor, cracking on the cement. She opened her mouth, her eyes watered and she heaved again, gagging as nothing came up.

"So feisty."

Rogue forced her eyes open her hand still on her stomach. She looked up. There was a woman standing in the doorway, grinning.

"So much fun today. I had no idea work could be this entertaining." She waved her arm.

The spinning increased, her vision narrowing into a tunnel, her stomach churned. She gagged, bile rushing up her throat burning her insides as it splattered on the floor, yellow and foaming. Her lips brimmed with spittle, her throat was on fire, everything was still spinning.

"Goodnight."

Somehow the needle had gotten into the woman's hands. Rogue tried to roll away from her but every movement was agony. She hardly felt the prick in her arm before, once again, the world faded away. The dreams started immediately. This time it appeared to be Gambit's turn again.

* * *

**John scanned** the files lazily, his feet propped on the computer console. To the back of his chair and by the door lay the unconscious bodies of the lab workers. He originally thought following them would lead him to Rogue. Instead it had led him to Remy's original destination, the control room.

They didn't seem to be bothered by the fact that the door was in the hallway, or that there were dents in the walls, scorch marks everywhere. It was all everyday. They stepped over the rubble, mumbling to each other and laid their files onto a still upright table.

They had been quick work, a blow to their back of their heads and hardly a squeak out of either of them. They'd dropped like sacks of sand and hadn't made a sound since. He'd started with the files first, hoping to find something on Rogue. There were mutants in the file, but non of them were her. It was strange each on was a little stranger than the next. Physically deformed, with amazing powers, there were at least eighty different mutants. The most disturbing was the red inked word next to each name, _inferior genes._

He knew who the people were, the Morlocks. He had only been there once but it was hard to forget their faces, or in one case the near lack of one. What did the files mean, _inferior genes. _He shouldn't care. After all they were only in this to save Rogue, and well now, probably, Remy as well. He wasn't there to ruin the job they'd actually done. He closed the file and lay it on top of the other's.

He ignored it and flipped on the computer. His eyes scanned files, bookmarks, useless shit, DNA strands, math problems. He clicked past them faster than he could read them only knowing it was useless. He didn't know how he got to it, but the file stopped his insane clicking. He paused on the exit button and looked. It was a map. He took his feet off the console and looked closer at the lines and scrawled handwriting. It was a map of the NY city sewer system.

There were several spots circled in red, names scrawled in unintelligible script next to each circle. These were the Morlock tunnels. His eyes flashed to the files, _inferior genes, _and back to the map.

He sighed, eyes widening, "Well shit."

"Really, I was just thinking it was my lucky day."

John jumped to his feet flames sparking to life on his palms as his whirled around. He didn't wait to see who it was before he tossed the first fire ball. The woman jumped out of the way, too fast for his first toss. She tossed her short locks out of her eyes and smiled.

Arclight, it had to be Arclight. So he'd called her a man a couple of times, teased her because he knew they were on the same team, that at least Essex didn't want him dead, so she wouldn't kill him. No here she was super strength and all looking to tear him to pieces. He really should watch who he teased.

"Lucky, 'cause you get to see me," John mocked, "I'm flattered." He tossed another ball of flame, it was hotter than the last and moving faster. She jumped, sailed over the flame and landed on her feet, closer to him than before. The ball of fire struck the desk behind her, the papers burst into the flames. He could use that to his advantage.

His eyes darkened when she started to shake the floor. The computer screen burst a shower of glass hitting his back, but he stood his ground. He called on the fire growing behind her. It jumped forward, licking at the walls trying to find something to latch on to. John focused, ignored the wave rushing over him forcing him backward into the shattered glass, he forced the flames to grow hotter. The wave glowed, white, nearing blue before she turned around. She screamed. He ran. He couldn't afford to get in a fight not now. Not when he was the only thing standing between Essex and Remy, Rogue, and the Morlocks.

All he could see were their faces, innocent, children, shunned, despised, belittled, because of what they were. He couldn't let it happen, not when he had been responsible for so much death before. He didn't like to have regrets. He didn't like to think about the past, but he couldn't do it again. He couldn't stand back, not this time.

There were other behind him. He could feel them. He dodged, jumped and set the halls to burn. When he hit fresh air, they were still behind him. He didn't loose them until he hit the woods and jumped into his car. He sped down the road, knowing that it was only a matter of time and he needed help.

* * *

**John didn't** get nervous. His first trip to the institute did little to shake him. It was just another home, somewhere else for people who weren't related to him to yell, scream, and hit. He hadn't seen the charms of the foster system yet. He'd scoffed at the classes, their _lessons_ on control, math, grammar, freaking Spanish, it was just complete crap. Scott tried to befriend him, a big brother. He'd set his sweater on fire, claimed it was an accident. The professor sat him down tried to get in his head, figure out what it was that made him tick, he'd tried to close off his mind concentrating of giving nothing away. The professor called him on, something about projecting. It was all predictable, ignorable, stupid, except for Bobby.

His roommate was different than the rest. Bobby was happy, smiling, laughing, pulled John to the side to tell him something he thought was funny. Gave him a sweatshirt when he'd arrived, still too proud to accept Ororo's offer to take him shopping. He never mentioned the times John got in trouble, never talked about where he'd come from, his family, or his old friends, and he never asked John about his. Bobby was different. Bobby was what made him stay when he thought he'd run away. He didn't think he'd ever had a friend before, at least one that didn't need anything from him. He'd even managed to trick the poster boy into causing a little mayhem, sabotage to Scott's car, hair dye in the girl's shampoo.

He didn't figure anything would change that, but when he'd reached seventeen and Rogue had shown up things did. It wasn't that he wanted Rogue. He'd prefer a girl he could touch, but it was just that Bobby had her, and she wanted _Bobby._ It left him wondering what was wrong with him.

Rogue didn't know where he'd come from, didn't know his past, but it was like she was throwing it back at him. He wasn't good enough. She just wanted Bobby, she ignored his attempts at flirting, his attempts to get her attention. When he'd finally met Bobby's family he realized there was no point in him trying anymore. Magneto sealed the deal, promised him something he never thought he'd have, control, power, status. He ignored the conflicting parts of his brain and focused on the anger. Somewhere in there he'd let his mind catch up with his actions and tried to go back, but it was too late by then. He had his lot in life. He was one of the bad guys. He'd never been cut from the mold of a hero. Not a Bobby, perfect from birth, or Scott, or even freaking Wolverine. He was hopeless.

"What are you doing here?"

John shoved his sweating palms into his pockets forcing himself to be calm. Bobby wasn't. There was frost forming on his fingers steam curling out of his mouth and nose as he breathed. Bobby had once been the only person he trusted, now Bobby was enemy, and all of it was his fault.

"Chill, _iceboy, _I came here to talk, not fight."

"Sonova bitch, you kidnapped Rogue, who knows what else you're up to." Ice was forming in his palm.

"Forget the act, nobody's here to see it," John spat, so much for being civil. "Besides I have something you want."

He paused eyes melding from solid to hazel. "Talk." He straightened his jaw throwing out his chest. "If you've hurt one hair on her head." The hero trip really was nauseating.

John rolled his eyes, "Why do you care anyway. She's not your girlfriend anymore."

Bobby narrowed his eyes. John nearly grinned.

"Something about you not being man enough downstairs."

"You sorry bastard!" The stream of ice was wholly unexpected but it was surprising how fast it could travel the fifty feet between them. John barely had time to pull out his lighter and melt the stream. He jumped out of the way before Bobby could send another blast. Bobby was strong, but John hadn't spent the last four years sitting on his ass. He had some new tricks to show the all-star.

"You forget I didn't come here to fight," Bobby pulled his hand back, frost melting. John pushed his luck and added, "Dumbass."

His eyes glazed over, frosty and white, but he didn't move a muscle. A smile inched it's way across Bobby's face. John raised a brow. That wasn't really the reaction he'd expected, the anger, but the smile. Bobby was probably thinking about what he was going to do to him when the conversation was over.

Arms encircled his shoulders, pinning him in place, squeezing the air out of his lungs. John froze his fingers pressing against the starter or his lighter. It fell from his fingers. He watched the bottom half tumble to the ground, fluid spilling into the grass. 'S_hing'_ whistled past his ears and he felt metal pressed against his throat. The tip dug in drawing blood with an uncomfortable sting.

"What are y' doin' here bub?"

He should have known, that smile wasn't for nothing. Bobby was too good to get his hands dirty. He was leaving the eviscerating to Wolverine. John wasn't stupid. He'd expected the man to be there, he'd just hoped that he wasn't. He knew coming here meant possible death, but he tried to hang onto his trump card. Rogue, Rogue was what would get him in.

"Didn't know you cared, Wolvie," he snarked pushing the quiver out of his voice. "I've missed you to."

The blade pushed a little deeper and he could feel the line of blood rushing down his adam's apple and soaking into his collar. Maybe that was pushing it.

* * *

**Kay, there it is. So give me some feedback, please, makes sweet puppy eyes **

* * *

**Preview for the chapter on Thrus.**

* * *

He still felt strange, his body humming, his limbs aching and his head felt like he'd been on a bender. He groaned and tried to roll to his feet, but his legs refused to work and he flopped uselessly onto his side, gasping for breath from the effort. He could feel the sweat forming on his brow, dripping down his face, stinging his eyes. It didn't matter that he was shaking, freezing, his body didn't believe him. The sweat was just going to make him shake harder.

Numbly he reached for the blanket, his fingers fat and useless slipped against the cotton. Frustrated he clamped his jaw only to bite the end of his tongue. He cursed and lay still. It was going to ware off. He knew that. It was just going to take a while. He had no idea how long the bastard had held onto his arm. It was probably a little longer than necessary, he had, after all, nearly blown his head off. He was just going to have to wait it out.

He closed his eyes, hoping sleep would come, relieved that Essex only believed in the minimal torture of his 'patients'. The bed he was on was soft, softer than the floor, and there was air blowing in from the ceiling. It was clean, a toilet in the corner. He'd been in much worse.

A chill rushed up his spine, and he thought of reaching for the blanket again when he heard a voice. It could be a hallucination. He'd heard so many people before he blacked out that there was really no way to tell what had been real. He'd thought he'd heard John, warned him, but he didn't even know if he'd actually been speaking. Not to mention his rambling might have given his friend away. Their entire mission was a bust. He'd failed miserably at heroism.

There it was again, snuffle, a voice soft and garbled, but a voice he knew. He forced his eyes shut and tried to concentrate. For a moment the extra effort did nothing but make the world blur. He pushed past it, forcing himself into a more conscious state. Her voice drifted to him, the rustle of leaves on the wind.

"Rogue?"

He spoke softly, not sure that his words would carry, that he was actually hearing her. He said her name again, louder, with more purpose. His voice echoed, booming against the large empty walls. The response was another whisper of sound.

"Rogue is that you?"

He needed to get closer to the sound. He narrowed his eyes and tried to pinpoint it's origin. Was it coming though the walls, the ceiling, in front of him? His toes barely broke his fall, his knees struck the ground next followed by his palms. His skin slapped against the hard floor failing to keep him upright, but softening the blow as his face struck the floor. He inched toward the right his hand touching the wall, supporting him as he lifted his torso.

"Rogue?"

"You're not there. Ah don' know ya."

She was clearer this time. He pulled his body against the wall resting his ear against the metal. His fingers hummed, the semblance of power resting under his skin. It begged to come forth, but he couldn't tap into it. The room was sucking, suppressing, his mutant ability.

The cool metal did little to stop the chills running over his body. His shirt was wet around the collar, down, his back and under his arms. He curled his legs toward his chest, tucked his bare feet under his legs willing them to warm against his own body. His arms he tucked under his arms. Gritting his teeth he tried to talk to her.

"Rogue, it's Remy..."

* * *

**Yah. It's good to be back. I'm sorry about all the delays. I'm going to finish this story. No worries on that.**


	10. All The King's Horses

**Disclaimer: I don't own a thing**

**Title: Born for Bad Luck**

**By: Peanutbutter**

"_Boys I'm most done travellin', Lord I'm at my journey's end_

_B'lieve I'm most done travellin', Lord at my journey's end_

_Well I been lookin' for me a good partner, bad luck is my best friend..."_

**(_Born for Bad Luck_ song by Brownie McGhee)**

**Chapter 10: All the Kings Horses**

"_...That's wrong_ _Little girl you are wrong_

_You got my mind messed up darlin...'"_

**(Song All the Kings Horses by: Allison and Solberg)**

* * *

**Note: Sometimes life is a little sucky, and then sometimes it's really, really, sucky. Lately it has been the later. Sorry there was no update or explanation on Thurs. I'm sorry. It's just sucky, sucky life, and thats all the explanation I can think to give. Give me some feedback if you want. I love you guys so much, and thank you for reading. **

* * *

**It was** unnerving to look at him. John had spent a great deal time trying, but failing, to piss this man off. He'd memorized every part of the Professor's face in an attempt to read him, because the Professor was so good at reading everyone else. Sometimes John had been able to detect an eye twitch, the slow curve of his lip, the clenching of his jaw, but never out right anger. John had thought for a long time that, that was his greatest mutant ability, a phenomenal poker face. Remy would follow him around, if he ever met him, and demand to know his secrets.

The unnerving part wasn't that the Professor was angry this time, that wasn't likely to ever be shown outwardly. No, it was that he had mastered the poker face on an entirely different face. He'd heard that the Professor had died and then through the grapevine, because it seemed mutants could be like gossiping old women, that he was alive. He hadn't know the specifics, hadn't asked, but it seemed he missed a hell of a story.

"So John, I see you've been very busy since you left."

John tried to keep his jaw from dropping. It was the same voice. The same freaking British accent. He wanted to reach out touch his face, make sure he was really there. He resisted. Wolverine had barely pulled his claws away when the Professor told him to. Bobby had covered his shirt with a thin sheet of quickly melting ice, but the warning was there. They weren't going to let John do anything, be it ill willed or not.

"You have nothing to fear."

John removed the cloth from his neck, glaring. "Do you see the blood. I think you might be wrong about that, and quit getting in my head."

"Stop projecting your thoughts into the room." He folded his fist in front of him. The same mannerisms but hands that he'd never possessed, large, too hairy, too muscular, for the Professor. His strength had always been something subtle. This man's strength was apparent at first glance.

"We can talk about my origins later, right now we have a more urgent matter to discuss."

John wadded the blood soaked cloth in his fist and leaned back in his chair. His mind jumped to work. He had been taught how to erect mental shields. He'd never been good at it, but Magneto had been a good teacher. Maybe it was something about having a super powerful telepath as your best friend and mortal enemy. If the Professor noticed the shields he didn't show it, poker face through and through.

"How do I know that once I tell everything you won't hand me over to the cops. I know how they contain mutants, glorified coffins."

"You have my word."

John couldn't detect any thing in the Professor's answer. Nothing to reassure him, but nothing to push him away either. Besides he was just playing a game. He was going to tell them no matter what.

"Listen, me and a friend of mine have been doing some work for a fellow here in town. Calls himself Mister Sinister, or Essex to his esteemed employees. To be honest I don't know what he does, Remy don't either, we just get the job, do it and get paid, cut and paste. Thing is we hit a snag in the form of an annoying white streaked girl."

He wished for a cigarette anything to keep his hands from shaking. He could feel the eyes on the back of his head. They wanted to kill him. It wasn't so long ago that they had been on the same team, how times change. He balled his hands in his lap willing them to be still. He didn't want them to know how nervous he was.

"Well Essex got a hold of her."

"You turned her over!"

Bobby screamed it his voice deeper, angrier, than John had ever heard it.

"No, ice for brains, he stole her from us."

"You're telling me that Rogue was with the two of you willingly," he was simmering, on the verge of boiling. When had the iceboy turned into such a hot head. Wasn't that his M.O.

"Shut it _iceboy." _

He could feel Bobby powering up, but he ignored it. He didn't really think he'd do anything with the Professor in the room. He was wrong. The chunk of ice hit him in the back of the head, almost making him see stars. He jumped to his feet ignoring Wolverine, who had set out to contain him, and pulled his spare lighter our of his pocket. He was never without a spare.

The arch of fire was met by a stream of ice. He was ready for a fight, a rematch, this time he'd give Bobby a permanent reminder of their confrontation. The streams froze, fire and ice seconds from colliding. John gazed at it memorized by the image, because Bobby was frozen too, face contorted in rage. He looked to his side, Wolverine was seconds from tackling him, frozen too. Absently he reached out squeezing the end of Wolverine's nose, flicked it, the man didn't flinch. John grinned.

"I'll only hold them for a small amount of time. You deserve a chance to explain, and I expect the truth." The Professor raised one of those bushy eyebrows. It was a look John had seen a lot, it said, 'I expect more than this from you'. John had thought he had seen the last of that look. He had, after all, joined the other side. He didn't seek the Professor's approval, but the British bastard still wanted to give it to him.

John ignored the wave of nostalgia and lowered himself into his seat. "You care if I pull their pants down and set 'em out in the front before you wake 'em up?"

"Still the prankster, St. John."

John tried to ignore the way his full name rushed him back to the past; back to a time when he had been helpless to help himself, trapped, no will, no life, no future. When his eyes met the Professor's he was almost sure the man knew what the name had done to him, was still doing to him. Maybe this time, this once, he'd just get to the heart of things.

John sighed and set his elbows on his knees. "I screwed up..."

* * *

**It was** strange. The Professor listened to him. Listened to his theories on the Morlocks, his suggestions on rescuing Rogue and Gambit. He didn't ignore the fact that all of it was John and Remy's fault, but he didn't dwell on it. For the moment he was focused on the mission, on what John was trying to do. Storm and Angel, a poster boy blond, had gone to check on the Morlocks after he'd divulged Remy's thieving of the files. So far all was well there. Strom was staying, on stand by, and the rest of them were heading after Rogue and Gambit.

"I'm not wearing that." John raised a brow and crossed his arms over his shirt, his thin, cottony, worn yes, but comfortable t-shirt. He took a step backwards to emphasize his point. His jean clad legs rubbed together, jeans, yes, he liked his jeans.

"Everyone wears it," Bobby snarled and threw it at him. "Do you think we actually want you wearing it?"

John caught it on reflex, fingers closing over hard leather. He fingered it absently. So there was a time, a very shot time, in which he craved the costume, to dress up, fight crime, to be on of the X-Men, he was over that. He watched Bobby step into the bodysuit like it was a second skin, worn on the joints, wrinkled and fit just to him. John was sure Bobby had worn the uniform a thousand times, was proud of the creases, and patches.

"You got a problem."

John pulled the eyes he'd had fixed on Bobby's shoes to his face. Bobby was simmering on rage, cool air blowing around his face and wafting across the locker room. There were things he could say, things that would push Bobby over the edge and start another fight that, for the moment, would be just between them.

John clenched his jaw and turned back to the crumpled leather in his hands. It was against his nature. He turned his back, heel sharp on the floor. The silence that greeted his retreat was enough to make him twitch. His fingers flicking at his sides, begging to make up for the insult he should have let fly. He balled his fist, willed it to stop. He fought the urge to reach for his lighter.

All Bobby did was leave, shoes echoing across the floor; the door slamming into the emptiness. John bit his lip. The insult was still biting at him, worming it's way through his head, taunting him, begging him to say it anyway. He let his eyes fall on the leather uniform, the bright blue 'X' stared back at him.

"I'm still watching you."

John jumped, he couldn't help it. He didn't like being snuck up on. Remy did it all the time, laughing like the insane asshole he was, pulling some back flip shit to get away. This was different while Remy was annoying, Logan, Wolverine, was terrifying.

"I don't trust you, kid."

John looked up. Logan was smoking, he usually was, cigar hanging out of his half open, sneering mouth. He bit on the end his arm crossing over his leather clad chest. He stepped toward him. John did everything he could to stay still and keep eye contact.

"Used to think that uniform was nothin', was crap." He jabbed the uniform with his index finger.

John was sure Logan growled. He wanted to swallow, re-wet his suddenly dry lips, but he refused to move under the older man's gaze. Logan could kill him, but if he had wanted to John would have been stabbed and hanging from the spikes on the front gate by now. Logan had never been one to beat around the bush.

"Scoffed at Scott when he tried to make me wear it," he paused for a moment, his steely gaze faltering for a moment, "I was wrong."

He turned around, smoke following him. He walked for the door. John furrowed his brow, confused, that was it, no 'I'll kill you', just some shit the Professor would though at him, that Jean, and Scott, and Bobby, had all tried on him before. He gripped the suit, fingers digging into the leather.

"What the hell are..."

It was all he got out before Logan was in is face. Breathing the foul, thick, distinct, scent of smoke into his face, teeth flashing, eyes blazing. John felt metal pressed against his back, the lockers quaked with the force of his impact, claws dug into the door behind his head, grazing the corner of his ear. It was everything he could do to keep from crying out, his fingers flailed at his side, frantic for release, control, for the fire that always called to him. He burned to command it, to command anything.

"Listen, kid, you think I've forgotten about the fire to the face, the fact that it's your fault Rogue is in this mess?" He leaned closer.

John forced his hand still, a smile forcing it's way across his face. He couldn't help it. He had to compensate. "Pride a little hurt, you couldn't find us after all. Maybe if _you_ had been a little better..." He let the sentence hang his tongue resting against the roof of his mouth seconds from a 'tsk'.

He was actually surprised he was alive the next moment. The one after that was enough to shock him into still silence. Logan just breathed, somewhere between blinding rage, an eerie calm. His grip hadn't loosened, the claws were still in the locker, which was better than embedded in him, but his silence was unnerving.

He backed away. The lockers jerked forward, missing the pressure of two bodies. John pitched toward the bench in the middle of the room, unaccustomed to holding himself up, and surprised that he was once again given the opportunity. Logan retracted his claws, reached for the uniform and held it out.

"You wear this kid, you do it justice." He tossed it.

John watched it fall in front of him, pooling at his feet.

"That isn't a fashion statement," he growled, "it's a promise."

He was gone. John toed it with his foot, contemplating kicking it across the room and burning the room to the ground, and hell probably taking the institute with it. He still might, later, but today he had something else to do.

When he walked onto the plane everyone was already seated, arms crossed, waiting. They turned to stare at him when he walked on. Scrutinizing, angry eyes, most of them had been his friends at one time, Kitty, Bobby, Pete, even Logan, to a degree.

"I can't believe you guys wear these all the time. There has to be some chaffing issues." John announced loudly and fell into a seat across from Kitty. He winked at her. She rolled her eyes and turned her head. John put his hands behind his head and leaned back into his seat, pretending their glares didn't matter.

* * *

**It was** hard to remember what happened. She was doing a piece for a magazine and before she knew it she was strapped to a table, powers tapped, mind a boggled mess. Really, she should have known better, people who generally read about which eye shadow promised you the perfect, night, business, and day look, didn't want to know about illegal research, or a shifty man whose alias was Mr. Sinister. She shouldn't have followed the lead, tapped into her former skills in government security, or even thought about using her powers, but she had. Now her brain was a scrambled mess.

There were pieces of her ordeal that she could put together, a patchy, inadequate view of a much larger picture. She had been taken down, how she couldn't remember, though a man with red on black eyes and a charming, but infuriating, smile keep worming his way into her memories. She didn't know him, didn't think she had ever seen him, but he refused to leave her alone. There was another swimming around as well, brown hair, brown eyes burning with fire. It didn't make sense. She didn't know them, knew no one could have burning eyes, but a 120 lbs, tall, leggy blond, shouldn't be able to lift a dump truck either.

Then there was the girl, the one she'd seen right before everything went crazy. The both of them had been strapped to gurneys. She was out of it, brown hair, streaked with white, tossing, moaning, struggling, but only half awake. Carol had tried to pull free, but the restraints were draining her powers, forcing her to be a normal human.

Sinister was talking, there were others, but that was hazy too, and then they had touched. Whatever was making her feel weird was because of that girl's touch. Whatever her skin had done it was enough to mess her up permanently. It was hard to see, to remember, just too much in her head.

Carol ran her hand though her hair, desperate for something familiar. She wanted to twist it, try to think of a way out, to get past the guards and fix her mind. She reached for her shoulders, fingers twisting, twining endless in her hair. It was getting long. She pulled her fingers though it like a make shift comb. Her fingers didn't stop at tops of her breast, but descended past, over her breasts, curling against the bottom.

Her hair wasn't long though. She had never had it longer than a few inches past her shoulders. She pulled her fingers through again. It was there, long, tangled. She turned toward it, pulling the hair into view. Brown, silky strands, burned into her mind, a white streak running though the chunk she was clutching in her palm. It wasn't right. Her vision swam, her mind reeling, was she seeing things.

Rogue pushed her away through the darkness grasping at the edges of reality, pushing, forcing her way into awake, the light, but someone was already there, looking for her, thinking for her. She waited confused before she pushed back. The voices spun dragging her into their midst, confused and angry. She fell prey to their whims.

* * *

**He still** felt strange, his body humming, his limbs aching, and his head felt like he'd been on a bender. He groaned and tried to roll to his feet, but his legs refused to work and he flopped uselessly onto his side, gasping for breath from the movement. He could feel the sweat forming on his brow, dripping down his face, stinging his eyes. It didn't matter that he was shaking, freezing, his body didn't believe him. The sweat was just going to make him shake harder.

Numbly, he reached for the blanket, his fingers fat and useless slipped against the cotton. Frustrated, he clamped his jaw only to bit the end of his tongue. He cursed and lay still. It was going to ware off. He knew that. It was just going to take a while. He had no idea how long the bastard had held onto his arm. It was probably a little longer than necessary, he had, after all, nearly blown his hand off. He was just going to have to wait it out.

He closed his eyes hoping sleep would come and relieved that Essex only believed in the minimal torture of his 'patients'. The bed he was on was soft, softer than the floor, and there was air blowing in from the ceiling. It was clean, a toilet in the corner. He'd been in much worse.

A chill rushed up his spine and he thought of reaching for the blanket again when he heard a voice. It could be a hallucination. He'd heard so many people before he blacked out that there was really no way to tell what had been real. He'd thought he'd heard John, warned him, but he didn't even know if he'd actually been speaking. Not to mention his rambling might have given his friend away. Their entire mission a bust. He'd failed miserably at heroism.

There it was again, snuffle, a voice soft and garbled, but a voice he knew. He forced his eyes shut and tried to concentrate. For a moment the extra effort did nothing but make the world blur. He pushed past it, forcing himself into a more conscious state. Her voice drifted to him, the rustle of leaves on the wind.

"Rogue?"

He spoke softly, not sure that his words would carry, that he was actually hearing her. He said her name again, louder, with more purpose. His voice echoed, booming against the large empty walls. The response was another whisper of sound.

"Rogue is that you?"

He needed to get closer to the sound. He narrowed his eyes and tried to pinpoint it's origin. Was it coming though the walls, the ceiling, in front of him? His toes barely broke his fall, his knees struck the ground next followed by his palms. His skin slapped against the hard floor failing to keep him upright, but softening the blow as his face struck the floor. He inched toward the right his hand touching the wall, supporting him as he lifted his torso.

"Rogue?"

"You're not there. Ah don' know you."

She was clearer this time. He pulled his body against the wall resting his ear against the metal. His fingers hummed, the semblance of power resting under his skin. It begged to come forth, but he couldn't tap into it. The room was sucking, suppressing his mutant ability.

The cool metal did little to stop the chills running over his body. His shirt was wet around his collar, down, his back and under his arms. He curled his legs toward his chest, tucking his bare feet under his legs willing them to warm against his own skin. His hands, he tucked under his arms. Gritting his teeth, he tried to talk to her.

"Rogue, it's Remy. Rogue? We came ta get y' out cherie."

"Where?"

"You're wit Esse..."

He didn't get to finish. Her voice broke in, sharp, barking.

"Essex, right, Essex. Mild mannered geneticist, right."

"What are y' talkin' 'bout?"

"Writing an article that requires, more than on brain cell to read, perfect." She paused, voice drifting away. "What's goin' on, who's there?

Remy quirked a brow. Maybe it wasn't only his body that was out of whack. She was talking crazy, disjointed and confused.

"Rogue, is dat you?"

She didn't answer right away, voice muted against the wall, a whisper in his ear when she finally spoke.

"Ah don' know who Ah am."

* * *

**Well here's what was supposed to be Thursdays chapter, sorry again.**


	11. Boom Boom, Out Go The Lights

**Disclaimer: I don't own a thing**

**Title: Born For Bad Luck**

**By: Peanutbutter**

"_Boys I'm most done travellin', Lord I'm at my journey's end_

_B'lieve I'm most done travellin', Lord at my journey's end_

_Well I been lookin' for me a good partner, bad luck is my best friend..."_

**(_Born for Bad Luck_ song by Brownie McGhee)**

**Chapter 11: Boom Boom, Out Go the Lights**

_'No kiddin'_ _I'm ready to fight..._

_Boom boom! out go the lights._

_**(Boom Boom, Out Go the Lights by Little Walter)**_

* * *

**Note**: I know a little late again, but I'm trying to get it out on time. I'm not going to change the release day. The new chapter will be planned for Mondays. Also I'd like to thank you for all the reviews. The constructive reviews help me to edit harder, and try to make the chapters the best I can. Also I have to thank you guys for all the praise. I wouldn't be writing this without it. I got an extremely long review from Ice this last time and I've never had a review like that before. I admit, I loved it and I just wanted to thank you for giving you time to write it. Everybody who takes a little time to drop a few words I just want to say, thank you, thank you, thank you, and thank you about a hundred more times!

* * *

"**Remy?" **

Remy tilted his head backward, eyes closing at her words. He whispered back to her, speaking in French because sometimes the tones, the flowing words, and accent seemed to sooth her, smoothing the wrinkles of her damaged psyche into something more coherent.

"Ah know why you did it."

His fingers slipped through his hair, lost on productive action, longing for a cigarette to hold, he let them rest on his bent knees. His tips twitched, partly loss of nicotine, partly loss of situation control. Was it Rogue, or Carol, or John, or any of the other people swimming in her head that he couldn't name, couldn't calm, couldn't begin to understand, talking this time?

"Did what Cherie?"

What had they done to her? It was a question he could only partially answer and in the same instance blame himself for. She was struggling, lost, seemingly on the brink of insanity, because of him. The thought made his fists clench, his nails dig into his palms, and a ball of frustration and anger to build in his stomach.

"Ah would do anythang..."

She trailed off, voice on the verge of a sob, she had cried, a couple of times it didn't seem she was even aware of it. Sometimes it wasn't Rogue crying. Everyone was having their turn. Not to mention her accent had a tendency to thicken when she was upset, forcing her words into incoherency, slurred, and long.

"Anythang for what ya have."

Remy opened his eyes, tried to focus on getting out, on what he was going to do to Essex when he escaped.

"Ah, Ah've wanted it ever since Ah found out Ah was a mutant. It's why Ah got the _cure._ Why Ah ran away. Without it Ah can't, Ah can't go home, Ah can't..."

She was slipping away. Her voice had that edge of hysteria that promised a shift in personality. He was desperate to keep her there, talking, keep her Rogue. He spoke to her slowly, trying to force his voice into a calm he didn't feel.

"W'at do I have dat you want, belle, whatever it is, tell me, Rogue." It was good to say her name force her to identify with it. Sometimes that was simple enough to draw her back.

"Control," she whispered it like a prayer, her voice no longer cracking with tears, but deadly calm and toneless. "Ah saw you, Ah saw you without control. Your poor hands," she paused for a moment, "deadly skin, deadly touch."

He wanted to tell her that getting control had only given him less of it. He'd tried the quick way out and ended up enslaved to a man he hated, all because of a loyalty that probably shouldn't have existed, a crazy attempt to hold onto his honor.

"Ah would have done the same thing."

"Non," he yelled it before he even knew why. He forced his voice lower, calmer, "Non, you, your better dan dat."

Silence met his answer. He wanted to tell her more, tell her how things had gone wrong, why he had screwed up so badly. He turned toward her, his hand flat on the wall, wondering if she was leaning in the same place back against his.

"Rogue?"

She didn't answer, but there was a breath, deep, a quiver, another breath, she began to whisper. He'd lost her.

Clenching his teeth he rolled to his feet, unable to sit still any longer. In the other room she screamed. Remy rushed toward to wall, worried, angry. He whispered to her, tried to calm her, but she couldn't listen. Somebody else was talking for her.

His fist met the wall, denting the metal, breaking the skin on his knuckles, calming his boiling blood. He punched it again, the pain flared, the calm rushed over him, but her screams continued. When he hit the wall a third time the lights flickered. He paused eyes focusing on the florescent bulb on the ceiling. It sizzled, flickered again before it went black.

Darkness enveloped him, deep, consuming, complete. There wasn't a light coming from under the door in front of him and everything was deathly silent. He didn't have time to think about what was going on, or why. His fingers were tingling, his body was roaring, welcoming an old friend.

He smirked, a laugh bubbling out of his throat. He stumbled toward the door, letting the wall guide him. His fingers fell against the cool metal. He stopped, grinned when bright magenta filled the room, casting his skin a deep red.

"De Gambit, back."

He backed away unable to keep the grin off his face. The door exploded into the hall, flames dying on the metal, melted steel cooling back to a dull gray. He watched it for a moment before shifting his attention to Rogue's door. He wrapped his fingers around the locked knob and willed it to charge. It blew with a sharp pop, and he pushed it open.

"Who are you?"

Remy blinked in the darkness. There was no light for him to pick up on. He couldn't see her, even with his light sensitive eyes. Remy groped for his shirt sleeve, right where the shirt met the seam he pulled. The sleeve came off, crumpled in his palm, he immediately charged it. The pink light filtered through the darkness. Remy's eyes absorbed the light illuminating the room. He saw her. She was coiled against the wall, fists clenched, legs bent, ready to pounce.

"It's me, belle, it Remy."

Her response was immediate and painful. She jumped. He braced himself for the impact, feet planted, arms extended to catch her. She hit like a freight train her hands slamming into his chest, knocking him off balance. He hit the floor with a painful thud and slid backward.

He couldn't breath, stars burst in front of his eyes. He gasped, but his lungs were empty refusing to take in more air. She charged him, screaming.

"Ah don't know what ya did ta me, how Ah'm not myself, but Ah know it was you. Ah know it was you!" She charged him again, intent on bodily harm.

Remy didn't know where the strength came from, how she was able to knock his breath out and possibly break a few ribs with one shove. Her eyes were wild with rage. His fingers started to burn his arm tingling unpleasantly. He looked down, the cloth was still clutched in his hand, glowing, ready to explode. Remy concentrated on the cotton, drawing some of the charge away. When he looked up she was nearly on top of him. Remy tossed the cloth. It exploded, small, mostly a burst of light and very little boom, in front of her face. She stopped her eyes crossing almost comically before she fell backward.

Remy winched as he jumped to his feet, desperate to catch her before she hit the floor. His arms were barely able to make the catch, her back hitting his forearms. His ribs screamed, his breath was short, but she was safe, a little singed, but safe. She fell against him, yielding to his frame. Her breath came in deep, steady bursts, falling, not unpleasantly, on his neck where her head was cradled near his shoulder.

"You t'ink you're gonna get away, de t'ief turn hero?"

Remy spun around almost dropping the girl in his arms. A chill rushed up his spine and a stream of incoherent babble burst from his lips.

"Dat not a proper greetin' Remy, dere had t' be more you wan' t' say to your Pere."

* * *

"**So that's** it?" John asked unable to keep the amazement and skepticism out of his voice. Sure he wasn't good with computers, so he couldn't begin to understand just what her flying fingers had been doing when they danced across the keyboard, but it seemed a little too quick. Not to mention it was Kitty doing the hacking. He hadn't known her for long, but part of him had always considered her a little bit of a ditz, a Red Sox obsessed Bostonian, with a killer right hook if you insulted her team, but really, mostly, a ditz.

"I could explain it to you John, but I have a feeling you just wouldn't get it."

John leaned back into his seat, pulling his eyes away from the computer screen. It was like she had read his thoughts. Maybe ditz wasn't the right word, perhaps she was a little physic. She turned back to the screen snapping her gum and grinning.

"Well the power's out. We can go, no alarms, and complete darkness."

Wolverine took over, telling everyone their teams, relaying the plan he and the Professor had worked out. The Wolverine John remembered hadn't been big on the team building exercises, so it was hard to take him seriously. Especially when he advised everyone to stick to the plan, no improvising. John did snort at that, tried to cover it with a cough. Nobody seemed to think it was as funny as he did. Wolverine, the organized leader, the new Scott. That thought alone was enough to kill the smile.

"Any questions?" It was obviously rhetorical, especially with the glare he was sending to accompany the question. Wolverine was ready for action. More organized, team spirited, but not very patient, parts of the old were still mingled with the new. Besides it was all fairly simple, get in, get out, nothing fancy, there really shouldn't be questions. Then again that had been Remy and John's plan from the beginning. That hadn't worked out so well.

"I want John on my team." Bobby burst out, like he had been holding it back the entire time.

"What?" John hadn't meant to say that out loud, but really that wasn't what he had been expecting. Maybe, 'leave John on the plane', or 'lets, leave John here, teach him a lesson', definitely not 'let's be teammates'."

Bobby turned toward him, eyes narrowing. John shut his mouth.

"I don't trust you."

"_Bobo_," he mocked, "you really hurt my feelings."

"Shut it," Wolverine warned.

He turned to Bobby. "No, we already have the teams."

"Logan," he started to protest, but the doors were opening, spilling them onto the lawn. The fight was over, at least for the moment.

They moved like one, each team falling into a comfortable routine that only could have steamed from hours of practice. When one zigged, the other zigged, and sometimes there was zagging, chaotic at first glance and brilliant in its finality as everyone ended up where they were supposed to. That is expect for John.

He hung back watching, unable to go with their flow, too unaccustomed to team play. John had never been a team player. Even with Magneto it was about power, struggle, always fighting for your spot on the top, the thrill, the game.

"John!"

His ear piece crackled, telling him to get down. He was in the middle of the yard, in plain sight, he was ruining the plan. He stood rooted, ignoring them, telling himself that even if he _did_ need _their_ help he didn't need this, ridicule, orders, submission.

John turned to where Bobby was crouched. He flashed him a grin, before the fire jumped life in his palm. It was time to get down to it. He'd been fighting his nature for too long. He needed to cause a little destruction, do something his way. Besides, they were the good guys, didn't the good guys always win in the end.

"You, damn idiot!'

It was Bobby, figured him out, was charging him. John laughed and let the wall of flame fly toward the building. The wall was lit bright with flames. He pushed the fire hotter, further into the building, flash burning everything in it's wake. Something exploded. The night sky was lit, John grinned, just as Bobby tackled him, cutting the line of fire off.

The flames died slowly, the grass still burning. Guards spilled out of the building, Vertigo and Scalphunter soon followed. It didn't take long for a fight to break out. Everyone was involved, everyone expect for Bobby and John.

"What the fuck John!"

Bobby punched him. He felt his lip split his head knocked into the grass. John rolled to the side, bucking Bobby off of his torso and avoiding the next blow. He rolled to his feet and kicked Bobby in the stomach. Bobby was flung onto his back, panting, materialized puffs of air appearing in front of him. His eyes were going white.

John decided the fight was over, at least for the moment. "Come on _iceboy_ this is our chance."

Bobby was still pissed, mist wafting off his uniform. "You did this on purpose. We never should have trusted you!" He charged again.

John dodged the stream of ice, pulling his body into a difficult back hand spring. His legs screamed, his arms protested. He hadn't practiced in too long. His muscles were tired. Bobby didn't let the fancy move deter him. He sent another blast of icy air.

John rolled his eyes. Maybe he should have done this another way. Perhaps, thought about things before he did them. "Damn, I did it to draw them out. The rest will be here soon, everyone's fighting, but you and me, you and me go after Rogue." He left out Remy's name in hope of keeping Bobby calm.

Bobby stopped for only a moment. His eyes were still white, boring into John's. There was still frost on his finger tips, covering the chest of his uniform.

"You put everyone in danger. They could get killed!" His gaze shifted to the X-men. There was enough sentiment on his face to force John to look away.

John smirked and crossed his arms over his chest, "You worry too much, besides, you guys are the best, right. Let 'em do their thing."

He didn't like it. John could tell, and yeah maybe it wasn't the best plan, but it was his. The ice melted, his eyes turned blue.

"I'm going to kill you after this."

John laughed, short, and humorless. "Promises, promises."

* * *

"**Ya leave** the Guild, dishonor de family an' get a job ya don' finish. Dat not de way of de Guild, dat no de LeBeau way."

Jean-Luc walked down the hall, sauntering like it was a warm summer day, hands in his pockets, head tilted to the side, casual, and observing. He was smirking the side of his mouth turned up, but there was anything but amusement in his eyes. Those dark brown orbs were swimming with disappointment.

"What are you doin' 'ere?" Remy asked his voice low with confusion.

"Went ta check up on mon son and find dat he's in a mess o' trouble." Jean-Luc stopped in front of Remy. "I didn' expect t' find you in dis sort o' mess. Wat you tryin' ta prove?"

Remy's fingers tightened on the unconscious girl. "I'm fixin' a mistake."

"You makin' a mess o' your reputation. You don't get your emotions involved." His voice rose with each word, his face tightening, his eyes flashing with a fire he had never seen in them before.

"Dis, dis is different, she wasn' supposed t' be involved."

"You remember Genevieve?"

Remy flinched, Rogue stirred, her head burrowing against his shirt, moaning whispering. She was waking up and there was no guarantee that she'd be herself when she did.

"Dis is different," he started sure he would see that this time it was different, his father's eyes told him other wise.

His father took a step closer, was moments from touching Remy, when the explosion hit. They both lurched, Remy forward, his father backward. Remy rolled in the air forcing his back to take the brunt of the impact, shielding Rogue's body. He could feel heat rushing across his face burning his feet, he curled into Rogue forcing her into the protection of his arms, hoping that her exposed flesh wouldn't touch his.

His right palm struck the ground first with the intention of vaulting him back onto his feet, a move he'd done a thousand times before, but usually not with the added weight of another person. His hand slipped on the steel floor, pitching him toward the wall. He pressed harder, hoping to right himself, but his wrist gave out cracking painfully before he spun out of control. He twisted trying to soften the landing he knew was coming. It was too late. He hit the floor on his side skidding to a stop, out of breath, his wrist pounding.

Remy closed his eyes trying to access the damage. It was a long moment before he remembered his father. He sat up leaving Rogue on the floor as he scouted for his dad. He didn't see his father in the burning walls, in the fallen debris, but someone else standing where the tall, lean shadow of his father should have been. Red eyes met his from the clouded darkness and Sinister stepped out of the rubble, brushing the dirt with his shoulder casually, a ripped hole in his shoulder knitting back together.

"Essex," Remy hissed feeling stupid for having been fooled. His father, a proud man, set in his ways, and always set in his decisions would have never come to see him. His father had banished him, disowned him, had saved the Guild by getting rid of his son, but who was he, but a cast off. Jean-Luc was only his adopted father, his real parents had abandoned him a long time ago. It was only fitting that his other family did the same.

"Remy?"

Remy didn't pull his eyes away from Sinister but cursed her waking, without acknowledging it with his own eyes he spoke to her.

"Rogue, dat you?"

"What's goin' on?"

She sounded so lost, but he couldn't talk to her right now. Essex's arm was back together. He was frowning as he walked toward Remy, his true silver and black form intimidating even from a distance.

"I'm not done with the girl yet," Essex announced. "There are still things to be tested, too many question that I don't have the answers to."

* * *

**Rogue's head** was killing her pounding from temple to temple, from back to front. The light hurt her eyes even if it was small low burning flames, when she opened them and her stomach was flipping. She didn't remember getting out of her room. She didn't remember Remy being with her. Everything was so jumbled.

A hand on her head, she forced her eyes open. Remy was standing in front of her, his focus in the distance. She forced herself to look there, ignoring the pain and nausea. Nathanial Essex was walking toward them. Panic washed over her, seizing her breath. He'd done something to her, something involving another girl.

As she tried to remember her mind flashed, taking her away and dumping her into something it felt would explain. There was a girl, no more than eight sitting in the grass. Her finger, small and round plunked at wild flowers. She turned toward Rogue her cherub face glowing with excitement. Her eyes were blue, enough to rival the depths of Bobby's. She held out her hand, full of flowers, and smiled.

"I picked them for you." She extended her arm, still grinning.

Rogue didn't know who she was, or why she was in her mind. She didn't remember ever absorbing anybody like her.

"My name is Carol Danvers." She supplied the answer to the question Rogue had yet to ask.

"Who are you?"

She frowned, eyes shining with unshed tears, her cheeks turning bright pink. "You don't want my flowers."

Rogue reached for them, hoping to stop the girls tears, and then maybe get some answers. As her fingers closed over the steams her body roared. The psyches swirled, banding together, dragging her with them, screaming wailing, fighting to get back up all the while pushing her further down. She was loosing sight of the field, the little girl, of what she was.

In the distance there was a whisper, soft, too child like to be sinister, even though the words were enough to push her into despair.

"Who am I,"Little Carol whispered, "I'm you."

* * *

**Ohhh what's gonna happen next... Tell me what you think!**


	12. Can't Recall A Time

**Disclaimer: I don't own a thing**

**Title: Born for Bad Luck**

**By: Peanutbutter**

"_Boys I'm most done travellin', Lord I'm at my journey's end_

_B'lieve I'm most done travellin', Lord at my journey's end_

_Well I been lookin' for me a good partner, bad luck is my best friend..."_

**(_Born for Bad Luck_ song by Brownie McGhee)**

**Chapter 12: **Can't Recall A Time

"_...This world's a painted picture_

_They're growing up too fast_

_The innocence of childhood_

_Just a mem'ry from the past_

_And I can't recall a time..."_

_**(Can't Recall A Time song by Hill and Lewis)**_

* * *

**This story is coming to you from my death bed, cough, wheeze, cough, gag. I think if it doesn't get any better I might just let it kill me. Urgh I hate being sick. Wheeze, cough, gag, enjoy this chapter. Sorry for the delay.**

* * *

**It was** dark beyond the inky blackness of a new moon night, beyond lights off and no windows. There was nothing. Her fingers held no shape when she flexed them in front of her face, her body was melding, melting, into something she couldn't see or understand consumed by the darkness, thick black strips of clinging tar. She pushed against it only to have it cover her further, numbing her limbs and her mind.

There were flashes, moments when the the numbness would fade, a tingle racing up her body and into her mind, forcing her eyes open, forcing her fingers to fight, but they were becoming less frequent, barely a moment of light and clarity before the darkness pushed on her again.

"_Marie?" _

It had been years since she'd heard his voice. It was strange she had almost forgotten the slow twang to his words, the way he pulled his crumpled ball cap over his eyes, the annoying fish hook clipped over the brim, a huge metallic relic of the care free summer he turned sixteen. The grin he got when he thought of something to do, something involving mud, trucks, and sometimes things less than legal, but always harmless. The grin he got when he grabbed her hand and pulled her to his favorite spot.

"_Marie, are you there, Marie?" _

He told her he'd never taken anyone there, at least not a girl, and definitely none of his ball cap wearing gang of country boys playing at being men. He was different from them. He liked to sit in silence, hands thrown behind his head, staring at the sky. He didn't fill the silence with useless talk, talk about his new truck, the new biology teacher, what pissed him off about his parents. No, Cody talked about the future. He talked about college how he was going to be a big shot, how he was going to be so much more than a farmer's son. So she shared her dreams, showed him her maps, told him her plans for the future.

"_Marie, I was thinking, about us..." _

He used to blush, bright red across his face and over his entire neck. She loved it, loved the way his sun browned cheeks would redden at the silliest things. The brush of her hand over his bare arm, her fingers twined with his, her head on his shoulder.

"_Marie I like you." _

That's when it had gotten all messed up when he blushed, she did to. When he talked about the future he put her in it. When her fingers brushed innocently over his arm, twined with his, when her head rested on her shoulder sending a burn though her body, a want a warmth that she craved, everything fell apart.

"_Marie, can I come over today?"_

She still remembered his lips, soft, full lips that she had craved to have against her own. The way his body, warm, young, and strong had felt pressed delicately against her own. The first pull, strange and powerful, of her powers kicking in. She had thought it was normal, it was the rush you felt when you kissed.

"_Marie, what's going on, Marie?"_

His body seized, the warmth radiating off him dissolving into a tepid wave, panic crawling up her spin forcing her lips from his, her eyes to open. He jerked, eyes rolling into his head, shaking, broken, broken from her kiss, her lips, her skin of poison.

"_Will you be my girlfriend? Will you go away with me? Will you love me?"_

She had taken his future. Unconscious for months, dead to her voice, her tears. Her touch had taken him. Taken his blushes, his laugh, that stupidly perfect crooked grin. She never saw him open his eyes again, shunned, ashamed and lost she'd run before she found out how it ended. She couldn't forget him. He stayed in her mind, whispering, lost, and confused. He tried to get her to go back home, tried to get her talk to him, but she didn't deserve to hear him, to crave his touch, that stupid ball cap, and his sweet grin.

When the professor boxed him away, a memory, she hoped to forget, in the back of her head she'd hoped she'd never see his face again, that she would forget his eyes, blue and sweet, the taste of his lips, and the crawling blush that stained his cheeks.

"Marie, open your eyes."

Her lids lifted. She wanted to keep them shut, away from his face, from the memories of him, but she couldn't stop them from rising, not when he asked her. There was light, all around her, the ground was green, grass lush and spongy under her fingers. The air was crisp, light, and smelled of honey suckle.

"Marie?"

He was in front of her, long arms shoved in the pockets of his knee length shorts, ball cap low over his crystal eyes. His feet were bare. She focused on his toes trying to find a flaw in him, something that would make him just a figment. Her eyes raced up his legs, over the hair, the scar on his shin, his shorts, his John Deer t-shirt to his sun kissed neck and browned cheeks. He smiled.

"Ah didn' think Ah'd ever get ta talk to ya again. You've been avoidin' meh."

* * *

**Essex walked** closer, skin glowing in the dark fire filled hall illuminating the torn strips of his uniform that rushed over his shoulders and down his back like shredded wings. His eyes were locked on Rogue. Essex was looking past Remy, like he wasn't there at all. His eyes glowed, his lips, black and smoldering curled through his filed teeth over and over and came back, surprisingly devoid of red.

Remy stepped in front of her, reflexively shielding her from the man's view, forcing him to look back up. Essex did, disdain and annoyance dancing across his face. Remy was nothing more than a slight bump on his way to getting a hold of Rogue.

"Dat low," Remy drawled as he bent toward the ground his shattered wrist pressed against his side. He picked up a piece of rubble, hard and heavy the concrete block rested in his palm. "Pretendin' ta be someone you're not." He tossed the rock upward and closed his fingers around it when it landed. Trying not to think how Essex knew so much about him, about his father.

"Like the thief playing hero."

Calloused fingers closed over rough stone, warming, rushing with a sudden heat, his fingers burning. He didn't have time to plan where to throw it, or even what to do with it afterward. The charge was already set and he couldn't draw it back out. He tossed it, side armed and quick. Essex wasn't concerned his impassive face stared back at him until the explosion hit casting him back into the smoky shadows.

"Let's get outta here, cherie." Remy swiveled on his heel to face Rogue, haul her to her feet and get the hell out. He was surprised to find her on her feet, eyes staring intensely at the cloud of smoke Remy had just created. She cocked her head to the side.

"Huh," she whispered, stepped past Remy toward the cloud. "Ya after him too?"

"Rogue, we gotta go, chere, dis isn' de time for reminiscing." He reached for her his fingers barely touching her covered arm before she twisted her fingers closing over his wrist. She squeezed. The contact was brief. She pulled back almost immediately her hand flying to her head. Remy reeled backward. The contact wasn't enough to knock him out, but it was enough to make him a little unsteady, not to mention he could feel his arm throbbing from her touch.

"You think Ah came all the way out here and didn't plan to talk to him. Ah need to...need to," She shook her head stumbled to the side. "Ah, Ah...what's wrong with with meh?" She spun on him eyes a flame with passion, eyes that used to be green like polished stones were blocks of cold blue ice. "What did he do ta meh?"

"Rogue, cherie..."

She pushed him, before he could finish his sentence, or react to the chill burning behind the cold eyes. It shouldn't have been such a big deal, a shove from a five foot five girl, but it knocked him off his feet. He felt something in his chest crack, pain radiating up his side. His back hit the wall behind him knocking his breath out.

"That's not mah name!" Her voice cracked her accent thickening in her distress, making her face contort further.

"Carol Danvers."

She spun brown and white hair flying in tangled curls around her shoulders. Remy pulled his eyes away from the girl to Essex. He was still smiling eyes wide with interest. Her attention for the moment was directed somewhere else and thankfully so was his ex bosses. He moved to sit up, one hand braced under his body, but his lungs burned with the effort, forcing a pained gasp past his lips. For a second he couldn't breath.

"You're not getting away with this!" Rogue screamed clenched fists powered with a strength he hadn't known existed.

"What are you going to do?" Essex crossed his arms over his chest. "You're dead."

Before she could respond he waved his arm, palm outstretched. She flew backward, back smacking into the wall, harder, even than Remy had. The wall dented behind her giving in with the force of her body. She disappeared into the rubble, concrete raining around the hole. He'd pushed her though the wall.

Remy clenched his jaw. He was on his feet before he realized it, ignoring the pain, the hitching breaths. His fingers were burning a snapped piece of re bar whitening his knuckles as he clenched it. It glowed, bright, burning red. He thew it, calling out as his chest burned with the effort, sending wave of fiery pain rushing down his side and forcing him to his knees. The pole flew through the air, Essex still ignorant of it, eyes focused on the wall. The hole where Rogue was buried, dead, no one survived that.

The pole pushed through the flesh of Essex's shoulder, the tip barely breaking the surface. He only had time to grimace fingers closing over the pole before it exploded.

* * *

"**I'm sorry,**" the words poured past her lips tears springing to her eyes unbidden and uncontrollable.

"For what?" He asked shrugging his shoulders. "For putting me here?"

She couldn't speak, her throat clogged with tears, thick and hot her face burned against them, couldn't see for them, fat and round they blurred her vision with each watery drop. She hiccuped, her voice dying in her attempt to apologize.

"Ah admit, for a while, Ah was mad but mostly it was because Ah didn't know. Hell Marie, ya wouldn' talk to meh."

She sought him out, wiping the tears from her cheeks and eyes only to have them well up again. He was kneeling in front of her now, hands twined across his bent knees, long strong fingers. She had always loved his hands, his touch like silk across her skin.

"Thanks, Ah think, but Ah've got calluses, lots of 'em, not soft boy hands." He held them out his voice fraying on defensive. "Just because Ah don't want ta be a farmer doesn't mean Ah don' work."

She sniffled. "Ah didn't mean," she paused. "How did you know Ah was thinkin' 'bout your hands."

"Ah'm in your mind Rogue. Ah feel it, hear everything you're thinkin'. Ah know you better than Ah did before."

Her face was still hot, tears streaming, but the clog was gone for the moment and she could breath, speak. "Ah never got ta tell you Ah was sorry."

"Ah know you are." He shrugged, flopping into the grass in front of her, fingers crossed behind his head. "The professor explained everything anyway."

Rogue watched his eyes. They floating into the distance. She followed his line of sight to the water. There was a lake stretched out in front of her. She knew the lake. It was Cody's lake.

"How do you know the Professor?"

Cody continued to stare at the water. "He came to meh when you first arrived at the institute. He's the one that convinced meh it was best, for you, if Ah stayed away, at least for a little while. He made meh this place. My own corner of your mind. My own little world inside yours."

"So you're stuck here?" Rogue whispered. Her sweet future bond Cody stuck in the past, stuck inside here forever.

"Don't get all mushy," Cody piped up. "You think Ah don't know Ah'm not Cody. Cody still lives in Mississippi, is in college, probably married, and despite all that talk still livin' in town. Ah always loved it, no matter what Ah said."

"You can't, Ah mean you can't be okay with this!"

He rolled to a sitting position. "But Ah am. This meh, gets ta be with you, and believe it or not that's all Ah ever really wanted. Ah know I was young, that we were young, but Marie Ah knew Ah loved you."

"How can you forgive meh?"

He was silent for a moment eyes resting so intently on her own that she had to turn away from him. Her cheeks burned with the boldness of his gaze, crystal blue eyes that knew more than they were letting on.

"You should go see me."

Rogue closed her eyes.

"You should find me in good ol' Mississippi and talk to meh. Ah know Ah'd like to hear from you. You can get the confirmation that Ah can' give."

"What if ya hate meh?"

His voice was whisper soft, air blowing against her ear, as he leaned in close. "Then Ah'm an idiot, but you already knew that, beside Ah meh, Ah know Ah won't hate you."

"Ah'm sorry."

"Listen, do meh one favor, stop apologizing."

"Ah hurt you."

"People get hurt, thats life."

"Ah didn' want to hurt you! Ah didn't ever want to hurt you and when Ah touched you, when Ah kissed you...Ah could have killed you!"

He was calm. "You finished."

She ignored him biting her lip. His fingers tickled the skin on her chin, forcing her to jerk away from him. She tumbled onto the grass, pushing away from his touch.

He stayed back, hand back on a bent knee. "Is this why it was so easy?"

"What are ya..."

"Is that why it was so easy for you let go, give her control?"

"Cody, Ah don'..."

"There are so many people trying to save you, and you're just going to let it end like this. It's not your fault. It's really not your fault."

Her voice was rising even though his was remaining light even and calm, though no less intense. "Ah don't understand."

"Carol."

She felt it. A cold hand in her own, flesh against bare flesh. She fought the pull, fought her powers, but the effort did nothing but push her into a panic. Her powers kicked in immediately, drawing from Carol's body, her life, her mind flooding Rogue's. She couldn't let go.

"She's taken over."

Cold, glazed eyes stared back at her, hazy, blank, empty. Her body was still, blond hair around her shoulders, limp, dull, lifeless.

"Ah killed her." Her face paled her fingers shook. "Ah killed her. The little girl, the little girl, Ah killed her."

"Essex killed her."

"Ah, it was meh, Ah touched her. Ah killed her."

"You were barely alive!"

Cody was gripped her shoulders shaking her. When had he gotten so close? When had he gotten so angry?

"It's not your fault."

"Ah killed her," the chill froze her, numbing her limbs, dulling the sound of Cody's desperate words. She had always known it would happen. She had always been so careful, so careful when they came back after being free for so long. She had tried not to hate them, not to hate herself, but she'd done it. She'd screwed up.

"Don't you know they're fighting for you! All of them are fighting for you! You can' give up!"

He was barely there. His features fading, his voice a whisper. He was so close, fingers on her clothed shoulders, but his voice was a wavering sound barely reaching her ears. She wanted to reach for him, touch his cheek, tell him it was alright, but her fingers wouldn't move. She closed her eyes.

"Dammit, Marie, Rogue!"

She was falling, the darkness falling back around her, closing her in. She let it fall, pulled for it, longed for the darkness, but there were too many fingers, long slender digits interrupted by rounded knuckles, fair skinned, dark skinned, flesh covering smooth and scarred palms, all of them grabbing, touching, pulling her. She felt them on her skin, bruises left by eager, strong hands, scratches, faint brushes like the wind kissing her skin. She tried to curl into herself, will them away, but all it did was make them angry, make them push harder, pull harder, swirl faster.

A hand brushed over her shoulder, stronger than the rest. The touch forced her out of her slump, her eyes to open wide, to hear the voices, to recognize the pulling fingers. His touch wrapped around her like the comforting blanket of a father's embrace. She wanted to stay there, live in the touch go back to the grasping pleading fingers, but she didn't deserve it, didn't deserve their words, their sympathy. She'd killed a girl.

The darkness suffocating, thick like a heavy wool blanket and sticky like tar it brushed over her unrelentingly. The hand was still strong on her arm. She tried to pull away from it. It yanked, jerking her violently out of the darkness she'd been falling into, forcing her eyes open. One word pushed past snarling lips to reach her dulled ears, 'look'.

The swirling confusion of her mind was stopped leaving clarity in it's wake. She saw Remy, the wayward thief, leaning over her carrying her, protecting her. Surprisingly unnerved by the out of body experience, she watched herself confront Essex. Watched herself slam through the wall, still alive and conscious, but hurt. She watched Remy get to his feet, staggering, angry, bent on revenge. He threw the charged bar and all at once she knew he'd made a mistake. Charged it too hot, too soon, to close to himself. He was going to die.

* * *

**John covered** his face, diving back around the corner; pulling Bobby with him. It had been instinct to grab him and seek mutual cover. Later he'd plead insanity. After all Drake was the enemy. The explosion rocked the hall before Bobby could question him. The ground shook the ceiling cried, bits of plaster raining across their heads and dusting the black uniforms into a light gray.

"What the hell?" Bobby asked hands still over his ears.

What the hell was right. John had rounded the corner only a twenty seconds ahead of Bobby. He'd had about ten seconds to take in the scene, Remy slumped on his knees; Essex with his fingers wrapped the the glowing bar, before he'd pulled Bobby out the way and dived for cover.

The hall was still shaking, the roar of fire reaching John's ear with a eerie familiarity. He reached for the burn, calming it pushing the white hit to a red orange before snuffing it out completely. The hallway was still heated, steam rising off the ground and affecting visibility. The ground was charred black at the front of the hallway, inches from the toe of John's foot.

John uncovered his head breath coming in gulps, sweat forming on his brow. He was afraid to step around the corner, afraid that his nightmares would await him on the other side. The ones where the charred corpses left by the burning flux of his powers were his friends.

* * *

**Well that's that. Sorry it took so long, but I've started the next chapter already so it should be out Monday, but maybe I'll be able to get it out a little sooner than that. Tell me what you think.**


	13. Devil's Gonna Git You

Disclaimer: I own nothing

Title: Born for Bad Luck

By: Peanutbutter

"_Boys I'm most done travellin', Lord I'm at my journey's end_

_B'lieve I'm most done travellin', Lord at my journey's end_

_Well I been lookin' for me a good partner, bad luck is my best friend..."_

**(_Born for Bad Luck_ song by Brownie McGhee)**

**Chapter 13: Devil's Gonna Git You**

"_It's a long, long lane that has no turning_

_And it's a fire that always keeps on burning_

_Mister devil down below_

_Pitchfork in his hand_

_And that's where you are going to go_

_Do you understand?_

_Devil's gonna git you..."_

**_(Devil's Gonna Git You _song written by Porter Grainger)**

**Note: Thank you for all the reviews! That was the highest reviewed chapter I've had so far! Thank You, Thank You, Thank You!**

* * *

**Warm air** brushed across his face warming his cheeks and forcing his lashes into a flutter. There was a weight on his chest, a not so unpleasant pressure pressed into his collar bone and across his shoulder. His ribs ached from it his wrist was twisted under it, but there was something familiar about it. Burned rubber filled his sense followed closely by the smell of burnt hair and he was sure he was dead.

"Remy?"

Like angel's rushing across his face warm air brushed against his skin. His lips pushed their way into his mouth. He licked the dry skin, trying to moisten it, trying to find the ability to speak, to answer the angel of death that had descended over him.

"Ya alive?"

His lids fluttered open, afraid of what he would see, of the smell of burning rubber and singed hair, of the angel of death. She was blurry, like a mosaic looked at close up, jumbled colors and dark shadows but absolutely no definition. He blinked again trying to force her into focus. He pushed his head against the wall in an attempt to move backward.

"Are ya okay?"

She rushed into focus the blurred pieces coming together in a picture he didn't quite expect. Rogue was laid across his chest, wild hair around her shoulders, the tips curled with burn, her eyes bright and green stared back at him. Her cheeks were blackened with the slightest smudge, but she should be dead. He should be dead. He started to shake his head, but he was still a little out of it and the motion pushed her into a blur.

"Ah take it you're alive."

"You're hurt," Remy whispered his hands reaching for her of their own violation.

She pushed his questing hands away, surprisingly strong when he was so weakened. She shook her head in answer to his question, but it didn't make sense. How could she be unharmed?

"You saved me?"

She nodded lip curling strangely, a smile he'd never seen before. "It doesn't mean Ah like ya."

"Comment?"

"Ah don't know Cody told meh, showed meh..." She trailed off rising off his chest. "Carol."

"De girl wit de magazine, de girl dat keeps talkin' for you." Remy tried to sit up with her, but his body was screaming with each move he made.

The pretty face, with the smudged cheeks, twisted into so much agony that Remy thought she had been wrong about no injuries. Her eyes widened, quivering even as her lip was worried between her teeth.

"Ah, Ah killed her." She whispered her cry barely reaching his ears and even as it did he was unsure of what he heard.

He tried to ask her about it, his hands closing around her shoulders but a shudder raced through her, her eyes closing. When she opened them again ice blue stared back at him. The recognition slipped from her face, the agony gone from her eyes.

"So she lives."

Before Remy could question her face or changing eyes Essex stepped out of the doused fire. He'd forgotten about him for the moment, but with the force of the explosion he'd just caused Essex shouldn't have been there. She turned away from him, angry blue eyes focusing on another target.

"Her skin...just as invincible as Carol's, perfect, and I am sure your skin is just as deadly as our dear Rogue's."

Rogue stiffened against him, jerking at the sound of her name, and slumped to the side. Remy caught her on reflex, injured arm taking the burnt of her weight.

"The girl is mine." Essex hissed.

"Oh sorry, but I just want you to know that I already laid claim on her."

The voice cut though the pain forcing a grin across Remy's face. He drew her closer and forced himself to his knees as Essex spun to face the voice. Remy didn't have to look to know who it was.

"Yeah, I won her in a poker game, bastard bets women when he runs out of money."

St. John Allerdyce never could pass up the chance for a good jab.

Remy took a breath. Essex was occupied, for the moment, and what Remy needed to do was get the girl out. Especially when it seemed she had been the one to save his life even though he was the reason her's was in so much danger. He tried to lift her. His breath refused to come as he lifted. His arm went numb the tips of his fingers a vague tingle.

He wasn't going to be able to do it. Dammit, he was failing. He tried again, eyes focusing on her face, her wild hair, her closed eyes. It was his fault all of it was his fault. This time she rose but it wasn't toward his chest and his awaiting arms. She moved weightless and impossibly to his left. His eyes trailed over her body to the extra hands around her waist, pulling her away, saving her when he couldn't.

"I've got her."

Remy barely registered the words. They came at his face with a eerie frosty breeze that rushed over his scorched skin. He didn't want to let her go. He didn't know the man, but the 'X' on his chest told Remy all he needed to know. So John hadn't come alone. Remy let her go, the missing weight of her body more painful than his strain to hold her close.

"I'm Iceman."

Remy eyed him for a moment. The name didn't really register, but John had never talked about his days at Xavier's, but then again he had never been forthright about his past either. They had an unspoken agreement that the past was the past.

He cradled her in his arms while he held her his entire body changed. The leather uniform disappeared into a slick shell of ice. The blond's face was last to change his eyes whitening. She stayed intact laying across his arms, warm alive, and unfrozen despite the mutant's current state. His hand shot out ice flying from his palm and across the expanse of the hall, busting through the loose rubble of the opposite wall. Essex and John both rolled to avoid the resulting avalanche of rubble, but continued to fight, John's useless fireballs bouncing off Essex's silver slick skin.

The ice formed a crude bridge to the outside. The Iceman turned toward Remy, hard white eyes giving little of his true feelings away.

"Grab my shoulder, and hold on."

Remy was glad he still had his gloves on as he tried to find purchase on the slick man's icy shoulders. There was no wetness under his hand as he gripped, and the man's shoulder didn't budge even as his grip tightened.

* * *

**John backed** into the wall watching with delight and slight disappointment as Bobby routed their escape. He wasn't stupid enough to believe he could take Essex alone, but he hated to turn tail and run. Running had never been his style, but he had been going against his nature a lot the last couple of days.

He had thought there would be nothing on the other side of the wall, nobody to save. Remy burned, Rogue gone, nothing but Essex grinning back at him. He already knew what they would look like, had seen it a million times before. Maybe it hadn't been Remy before but Rogue, Rogue had a tendency to frequent his nightmares while he lived at the mansion. Her charred face and green eyes had haunted him along with the sunken black skull that had once been Bobby.

He hadn't thought about the dreams in years, hadn't had them in years. Not since he'd learned to control the flames. Not since he'd left the institute, the possibility of feeling at home, the idea of friends. His stomach rolled heat rushing into him. He welcomed it stroking it hotter, a smile touching the corners of his mouth. He'd just found something.

The three sailed past and John let the fire burning in his stomach roll into his hands, building the heat like stacked bricks. He clenched his teeth as he unleashed the wave. The flames surrounded him completely, licking at his uniform, stroking his hair, but never burning. He pushed harder. Essex was lost in the flames, he pushed again, forcing himself to make it hotter, ignoring the inkling of fear that had wormed it's way into his stomach, snaking throughout his body making his hands shake, his knees weak. Just how hot could he make it, and just how much could his body take?

"Pyro!"

It was hard to hear, the fire was roaring, his blood boiling in his veins. It didn't hurt, not like he had always thought it would.

"Pyro!"

Someone was calling his name, forcing the roar of the flames out of his head, but he wanted the roar, the boil of blood in his veins, the empty whine as he pushed himself to the absolute limit. A grin crossed his face maybe he could beat Essex after all.

"Pyro, John, dammit, quit!"

The hand on his shoulder was cold. His first instinct was to brush it away, get hotter, melt it, but the cool rushed down his spine. He faultered for a moment. The blue flames rushing throughout the room softened to white.

"We've got to get out of here. The Morlocks!"

Orange rushed over the flames and slowly they died. The cavern that had once been the inside of Essex's facility was no more. The walls weren't only black, they were melted, glowing metal chunks collapsing into the blackened earth. Steam rushed into the air as he called the fire back, his breath coming in huge gulps. He had never gone that far before.

"John," the cool hand pulled and for the first time John looked over his shoulder.

Bobby was standing at his shoulder, ice encased fingers closed over his still burning skin. He shrugged out of the grip and turned back to the scene. "Do you see him?"

"No, we've got to go."

John scanned the wreckage oddly disturbed that there was nothing left. There should be something. The way the man was putting himself together, skin knitting far faster and different from Wolverine's healing ability. There was never any blood, at least not that John had seen. Had he really done it? For some reason he didn't think he had.

He turned following Bobby to the jet. Oddly disconnected, he tried to force the roaring out of his ears and his body back to it's normal temperature.

"Storm called."

John shook his head forcing himself to listen.

Bobby was silent for a moment. "The Morlocks are under attack."

This once, John hated being right.

* * *

"How are the ribs?"

Remy looked up from his taped chest and scowled at John.

"What's dat?"

Remy's eyes were glassy, probably from the pain, and there was a possibility he was seeing things. John raised a brow. "What are you talking about?"

"Dat tight leather number you're wearin'."

John narrowed his eyes and tried to keep himself from shifting uncomfortably under the Cajun's amused gaze. He had opted to leave the front unable to take the intensified glares of mistrust since his little break from the plan. Everyone was a little banged up and they seemed to blame that on John. He should have known Remy wasn't going to spare him.

"Didn't you used to wear pink?"

Remy stiffened for a moment and John thought he'd gotten him, but the smile that rushed across his face, and the bright flash of his eyes told him other wise.

"When ya dis good lookin' you can pull off anyt'ing," he pulled his shirt on over his taped ribs wincing as he forced the shirt down. "You, on de ot'er hand, should be more careful."

"And to think," John scoffed, "I came to see if you were all right."

Remy snorted. "You came back here ta get away from dem."

Perceptive, but Remy had always had an eerie way of knowing what he was thinking, he hated that.

"De fille gonna be alright?"

It wasn't what John had expected him to say, something else about the uniform, maybe how ridiculous he looked, how ironic that he was wearing the symbol of the very people had once stood against. The question about Rogue was a welcomed distraction.

John shrugged, "I don't know, they rushed her to the very back, but they won't tell us what's going on. I just know she's unconscious."

There was only a beat before Remy spoke again his fingers clenching on the edge of the table."You got une cigarette?"

John raised a brow. "Just were on this pretty damn near skin tight uniform do you think I've got them stashed."

Remy raised a brow, "Never mind, dis Cajun passes."

"Dick," John spat but without any real anger.

They fell into silence, something they rarely did unless it was serious. John hated silence, loved to fill it with useless talk, music, anything but breathing and the absence of words that allowed unbidden thoughts to steal over him.

"She killed someone."

John couldn't keep his face straight, "What?"

Remy laid back his back smacking onto the table a loud hiss of breath leaving his mouth. "Rogue."

John snorted, "You sure they didn't give you something a little strong for the pain."

"Essex made her absorb someone, screwed up her brain, like when she touched moi..."

"Actually, you touched her, if you hadn't been trying to feel her up..."

"Arret, Tu ecoute!"

John had no idea what he was saying but it was loud enough, his tone serious enough, to force him into silence.

"Dis ot'er girl kept talkin' for de femme, somebody named Carol. De last t'ing she said before she passed out was dat she killed someone."

It was impossible to read him, he had purposefully hidden his face behind his raised knees and reclined body. John swallowed. It was crazy. Rogue didn't have it in her to kill. That was something he had always been pretty sure of.

"I t'ink Essex made her touch someone, made her hold on 'til dey died."

"That's crazy," John started.

"Vraiment?" Remy shot up hand on his bound chest.

The French was really getting on John's nerves.

"Den you explain how she saved me, and how dat blast didn't kill her? How gettin' knocked t'rough dat wall didn' kill her? How she broke my ribs wit one shove? Why de ot'er femme's personality never wore off."

The roughly thrown back curtain was enough to force Remy into silence though his red on black eyes were still smoldering. John turned to Wolverine.

"We're landin', get your ass up front and in a seatbelt."

The wolve's eyes roamed over Remy's. John had to admire Remy for not looking away. After all the slash marks on his back were from, non other than, the man currently trying to stare him down.

"That goes for you too, gumbo." He looked at John, "We're headin' out as soon as we land."

Remy just glared until Wolverine turned around, leaving the curtain open but officially closing their conversation.

"So dis is what we were gatherin' all dose mutants for?"

John felt the sickness well in his throat as he remembered the faces of the Morlocks and the ugly red stamp that was placed over their names. He nodded.

Remy got to his feet, only pausing for a moment before straightening. "I guess, next time, we look a little more into de t'ings our boss does wit de stuff we steal, heh?

John just nodded, forcing a smile across his face as he strapped himself in, Remy beside him. "Next time I pick the job."

Remy snorted, "Right, like dat has ever gone well."

Before John could answer the jet set down, a slight bump bouncing him in his chair. The dull of roar of the engines cut off plunging the cabin into yet another silence. John swallowed, again unable to fix the unnerving quiet.

* * *

**It wasn't** like he expected them to accept him, throw him a uniform, shake his hand, pat him on the back, he didn't expect anything but for them to leave him behind, but they'd believed John helped him and saved the original kidnapper in the process. It was all about common enemies, but Remy couldn't help but be a little awed. They even taped his ribs set his wrist in a brace, which he'd promptly taken off, but it was all in the thought. Enemy or not they didn't want to see him suffer. It was a mercy he hadn't seen much of.

Beside him John was oddly quiet plucking at the sleeve of his uniform, tempting Remy to comment on it again. Anything he'd say would set him on the defensive, but something about him wearing the uniform he'd sworn to fight against wasn't funny, so he left it alone. Not to mention his body was in too much pain for a lot of snark, and to top it off he was heading into another battle. Something that, once again, he was responsible for.

They filed out of the jet in a strange quiet. Wolverine was last eying John as he scrambled off and leaving his gaze to settle on Remy's. Remy tried to hold it, had done in the medical bay, but it was hard to keep looking at him as if he didn't feel ashamed, or guilty. He knew very well that this was all his fault, and that when he was done he'd answer for the things he'd done, and Wolverine would be the jury, judge, and executioner. Remy averted his eyes and started past. Before he was at the first stair a strong hand closed over his shoulder stopping him.

"This isn't a game, Gumbo, you're gonna answer to me when this is over. Don't think about running off, and taking the Pyro with you."

Remy shrugged out of his grip. "Dere bigger t'ings to worry 'bout," he gestured toward the sewer entrance.

"I'm stickin' close to you."

"Dere plenty 'o Remy to go 'round," he mocked and jumped down the ramp to catch up with the other, "no need ta be greedy."

It didn't matter if he was sticking close to Remy or not. He had a plan and it didn't involve being caught by the X-men.

* * *

**What's this plan all about? What happened to Essex? How bad is the fight below? What's going on with Rogue? There are too many questions, but thankfully some will be answered in the next chapter.**


	14. Big City

**Disclaimer: I don't own a thing**

**Title: Born for Bad Luck**

**By: Peanutbutter**

"_Boys I'm most done travellin', Lord I'm at my journey's end_

_B'lieve I'm most done travellin', Lord at my journey's end_

_Well I been lookin' for me a good partner, bad luck is my best friend..."_

**(_Born for Bad Luck_ song by Brownie McGhee)**

**Chapter 14: Big City**

"_Sun sinking deep, fires burning down_

_Hard to see the moon, when the smoke is all around_

_I live in a big city..._

_I hear babies cryin' _

_There'll be killing in these streets..."_

_**(Big City **_**Song by Allison and Solberg)**

* * *

**Note: It's beyond late, but it's here, finally. **

* * *

**It took** too long to get there, rushing deeper and deeper into the under belly of the city, splashing through puddled tunnels, Remy held his side and wheezed with each footfall. He wondered if he would make it. His lungs insisted that he would not, and he wondered how close to laying on the precious organ those broken ribs were. His body ached like the flu was racing through his veins, zapping his energy and making his joints ache.

The noise reached them before they saw a thing, loud clanging, cries, and the explosions of various powers echoing throughout the corridors. The tunnels widened; their step slowed to a mere jog, and in an instant the battle was before them.

The tunnel ended before a large open space, a huge ceiling sloping and covered with a cobweb of meshed pipes of varying sizes. Somewhere, too high to see, was a grate casting brief glances of real light across the artificially lit space. There were houses, built into the walls across the tunnels, old shelters forgotten and dismissed over the years, new additions built onto them. They gaped like skeletons poor representations of what they used to be. The walls were gone, fires burning in the centers of them and leaping out the windows.

His eyes strayed over the mayhem to the woman flying by the meshed web of pipes. Her gaze, white and stormy, was fixed on the barely visible sewer grate. Lightening flashed though the opening illuminating the tunnels for an instant and making Remy cover his eyes in a clumsy shield. Sabertooth just missed the blast jumping against the wall and rebounding across a nearby tunnel entrance, mixing into the mass of mutant bodies. He torn them down, throwing the causalities over his shoulder with surprising apathy. The others were not to be out done, Arlight, and Scrambler were causing similar damage. The Morlocks were falling at an alarming rate.

The X-Men jumped into the fight dancing around each other and trying to stop what the Mauraders had started. Wolverine made his way toward Sabertooth claws extended. It didn't take them long to meet, teeth, snarls and bloody fist marked the start of a long fight. The others ganged up on the other two, though he was sure the odds wouldn't be tipped for long. Scalphunter was on the way and Vertigo was sure to follow. There was only a question of whether or not Essex would show up. The fact that they were still fighting proved that John hadn't finished their former boss.

He didn't know that John was standing next to him until his voice, low and distant rang in his ears. "I thought they were warned. We told them that it was coming."

Remy didn't want to think about the guilty edge to John's voice or how he was afraid to look at his friend, to read his unmistakable body language. Remy swallowed his eyes catching on the flaming homes.

"Dese people dey, dey not the fighters, dese de ones supposed ta be in hidin'." His fist clenched at his side.

Before he could say more or take action John was gone. He was silent as he jumped the short distance from the tunnel to the ground. His first fireball hit the back of Sabertooth's head making him howl backward his pummeling fist leaving Wolverine's face. Wolverine had the upper hand in an instant, pushing the growling man to the ground.

Remy jumped from his perch and pulled the deck of cards John had given him out of his pocket. He charged the first couple and jumped into the fight.

* * *

**She felt** like she had been in the darkness for too long before she came awake again. She expected the soft grass of Cody's spot and the soft breeze of a cool summer, but when she opened her eyes there was no color, not light, nobody, but she floated; somehow, solid on nothing in the middle of nothing.

"Cody?"

Her voice was empty, short, and barely reached the depths of her own hearing. She tried again but it was no use. She could barely hear her own voice and no matter how much she longed for it the Cody's soft southern accent didn't answer her calls. She knew, vaguely, that she was in her own mind. Why was it there were so many places she didn't recognize? She thought of Cody's domain perfected for him by the professor, his own little world inside her mind. Could this be someone else's? She doubted that, white, stark and empty she wouldn't want to live there.

"Carol?" She spoke the name with out really thinking about it. The name was foreign on her lips but the sound vibrated through the space rushed over her body and forced her eyes shut.

"Who are you?"

Rogue opened her eyes. There was a woman standing in front of her, long legged, blond, hand perched on a cocked hip, eyes narrowed angry, and a sizzling ice blue. She removed the hand from her hip and crossed her arms over her chest, defensive, and answered the question before Rogue could.

"It's you, that girl from the table."

Her voice was smooth devoid of any accent and would have been sweet, if it weren't for the bitter edge to her words and the sharp look in her eyes. Rogue swallowed and nodded. She still remembered her hand one the girls, how she had tried to stop.

"Stop doing that!"

"What..."

"Thinking about it, every time you think about it I get flooded with things I shouldn't be seeing." Carol put her hand on her head and closed her eyes. Her palm rubbed rhythmically across her temple.

"Sorry."

"Yeah," she removed her hand and looked up her eyes a little glassy, "sure."

"Ah am," she said tears welling in her eyes. "Ah didn't mean ta do this to you."

"Kill me?" She asked callously.

"Ah'm sorry," she whispered pushing the tears back, holding them in while she spoke. "Just, just let me explain." Cody said he had been mad, but only because he hadn't understood, maybe if she explained...

"Explain what, the ugly details?"

"The way my powers work."

* * *

**John was** flying through the air and dammit it was going to hurt when he landed. He'd tried to roll after the toss, calculate his landing, but it was near impossible. It was either hit the bottom of the approaching sewer pipe with his back or his head. There was nothing he could do to stop the momentum. He curled himself into a ball, forcing his legs to his chest.

BAM!

His back hit the pipe forcing him out of his roll his head flinging backward his legs uncurling. He hit the ground with a splash, his eyes rolling back in his head and his ears ringing. The igniter pack on his back was smashed, somewhere between the initial hit and his fall. A chuckle settled over him as he tried to get up.

"So, not so tough."

John opened his blurry eyes and focused on the snarling mass, more beast than man, leaning over him. His teeth gleamed in the dim light his eyes glinting savagely. John flexed his wrist hopefully, the igniter fizzled but there wasn't enough power for him to call on the fire.

"Shouldn't have switched sides," Sabertooth grinned, fangs and inhuman lips curling upward, all in all a pretty horrific sight. "Essex doesn't even want you alive." His clawed hand reached down fisting in his uniform. "If you're an _X-Man_ now you'll die like the rest."

"Not an X-Man," John mouthed uselessly as Sabertooth pulled him off the ground gagging him with the collar of his own uniform.

Sabertooth laughed, "Switching sides again? Always thought you were untrustworthy. Told Magneto, told Essex, you going to help me kill you little buddies? Melt the iceboy, while I crush the girl, and lets not forget the Cajun. He's near finished as it is, Arclight's taking care of the traitor."

John let him talk, keeping his mouth shut as he reached, his fingers brushing over the pocket on his uniform. He felt the inside of the pocket and let a suppressed grin rush across his face.

"You got it wrong furball." John spat.

Sabertooth's grip tightened and John suppressed a wince as a growl reached his ears. His free hand flicked the lighter into action. Fire burst across his hand racing up his arm. Before Sabertooth could pull back he shot the flames right into the cat's face. Sabertooh rolled backward, dropping John, and swatting ineffectively at the burning hairs on his face.

John immediately rolled to his feet. Forcing air into his his bruised throat and deprived lungs, he suppressed the urge to cough. His lip curled in satisfaction as he watched Sabertooth fight the flames. "I'm on my own side."

Sabertooth roared his face black and red, blisters appearing where the hair was burned away, skin blackening around the open wounds. He charged.

* * *

**"So I'm** stuck here?"

Rogue swallowed. She expected the question, dreaded it because there was only one answer.

"Yes."

"So he didn't lie, I'm dead, at least my body, my body is dead."

The word was thick, hard to say. "Yes. Ah'm sorry," Empty, hollow, and worthless the apology passed her lips for the thousandth time.

"And you, you have my powers, the strength, the flight, my every memory." She whispered it pained and chocked as she paced the room.

"If, if that's what your powers are, Ah mean Ah used the super strength to save Remy. Ah don't know how Ah knew, how Cody did, but..." she trailed off.

"He kidnapped you."

"Remy? Yeah, he did, Ah just, Ah don't know, he tried to save meh." She shook her head. "Things got a little confused."

"So everyone else you touched it here too?"

"Yes."

"Where, I mean I've only met you, though I've seen some things I don't exactly understand."

Rogue didn't really want to tell her that she had them locked away. That the Professor had taught her how to lock away each psyche, each memory, until there was nothing left.

"You lock them up?" She was horrified her soft face contorting again. "You lock them away."

"No!" she waved her arms for a moment. "Ah did to some, the dangerous, the ones that won't leave meh alone, but..."

"You're going to do it to me. You're planning on it, aren't you?"

"No, Ah wouldn't. Ah'd share, Ah won't lock you away." She backed away from the advancing girl, though she wasn't really sure why.

Carol's brow was crinkling angrily. "I've gotten control you know. I've gotten control of you body without even trying."

Rogue was silent.

"I had a life you, a good one. I was finally writing the articles I wanted, finally got the gorgeous place in upstate...," she trailed off. "I know it's not really your fault, but," she paused for a moment, "but it's not mine either."

Rogue was frozen as she stepped closer. She stopped inches from Rogue's face her hands reaching up to touch Rogue's cheek. She flinched away from the touch, but Carol closed her ghosting fingers over Rogue's chin and squeezed.

"I had a life, a good one," she repeated, "and I'm not ready to give it up yet." Her voice was surprisingly calm as she lifted Rogue off the ground, her fingers tightening, bruising; Rogue's feet barely brushed the floor. "I'm sorry."

The words echoed in Rogue's ears as she started to struggle, but the hold tightened and before she knew it she was flying through the air, but her back didn't hit anything. She watched the white empty room fade taking the image of Carol with it.

* * *

**She was** crying hands flung out eyes squeezed shut, her voice drifting through the battlefield but deaf to the bodies lying in front of her. Her screams were a beacon. Remy heard her first. He had thought all the children where gone, cleared out when a winged man and a woman wearing an eye patch arrived to fight. She brought reinforcements, fighters, and the winged man tried to herd the helpless, defenseless, and wounded out of the fray.

It had started to turn for the best, but Vertigo and Scalphunter, sporting a deadly self made gun, had arrived fresh and ready to fight. The battle had reawakened. The little girl continued to scream.

Remy pulled himself up, ignoring the protesting rib, the shortness of breath and ran for her. His legs were slow, more sluggish with each step. She was crying louder hands clutching at body of the woman in front of her. Remy settled in front of her his knees brushing the prone body, his fingers pressing against the pulse point on her neck.

The little girl quieted, like his presence was something she hadn't expected. Remy tried to smile and catch her eye, but her large watery eyes were fixed on his dirt smudged fingers. There was no beat beneath his tips and he pulled his hand away regretfully. The girl started to whimper.

"Come on petite, it time ta get outta here, heh?" He reached for her, pulling her cherub fingers from the woman's shirts. She wailed louder, lids opening to deep green eyes blurred by tears.

"Momma," she whimpered curling brown locks falling into eyes. Her skin was peppered with bumps, spikes barely breaking the surface of her skin.

He shook his head unable to form the words to comfort her and gathered her into his arms. She struggled, pulling, screaming, and crying louder, the spikes becoming more prominent with her panic. His good arm underneath her he pushed her to his shoulder with his bad arm, hoping she would calm, so he could get her out.

"My name, petite, is Gambit, but you can call me Remy. I'm gonna get you out o' here, I promise." She snuffled against his shoulder fingers wrapping in the shoulder of his duster.

"Sarah," her voice barely reached his ears over the battle.

"Sarah," he repeated, "dat a pretty name." The spikes pressing into him seemed to reseed a bit and she held him tighter.

"Remy," she whispered fingers fisting in his jacket, "I want my mom."

Remy didn't know how to answer but held her as tight as he dared, with the dull spikes pressing into his arms.

"Think you're getting away LeBeau?"

Remy slid to a stop as Scalphunter, the large gun wielding mutant stepped in front of him. Moments ago he had been fighting Wolverine. Sarah started to shake a sob escaping her throat. Her spikes dug into Remy's arms echoing his own panic.

"Give me the inferior."

Remy tightened his hold and dropped to his knees as Scalphunter fired the first shot. Sarah screamed the spikes in her back breaking the skin on his arms as he rolled away. He suppressed the groan and forced himself to hold her closer. He was bleeding, he could feel it rushing down his arm and soaking his sleeve. He forced himself to roll. His good hand dug into the ground, grasping, pleading, desperate, for something. His fingers closed over a few stones and he rolled to his feet, out of breath his ribs screaming and his vision blackening.

Scalphunter fired again, bullets flying past Remy's head as he forced his body to dodge. He tossed the stones, bright with charge, at Scalphunter. They exploded near his face, making him fall to his knees the gun dropping from his grasp as he swatted at the still burning embers of rock.

Remy broke into a run ignoring the yells and waves of powers. Something hit him, sharp and painful. It raced up his leg making his knee buckle for an instant. His bad hand flew out to catch his fall, cracking again as it made contact with the hard ground. Forcing a roar past his throat, he maneuvered his body into a roll and sprung to his feet only seconds later. The wound burned, his lungs ached, and Sarah was screaming again.

He could see it. The exit, the place where the winged man had taken the innocents was still open and he was sure he saw bright white feathers hidden around a sharp turn. Remy pushed himself through the tunnel nearly colliding with Angel as he rushed through.

"De girl," he explained, "her mother's dead."

Angel reached for her, but she clutched him harder.

"No," she whispered, "don't leave me, please don't leave me."

Remy could barely hear Angel's instructions. His head was swimming. Was he telling him how to get out, where to take the girl? He was having a hard time breathing.

"They're leaving."

Remy turned. The Mauraders were running. So the X-Men had won. Before he could celebrate his eyes scanned the battlefield. The ground was littered with bodies. The X-Men were injured, limping; quiet despite the victory. The remaining Morlocks stared silently at their burning homes, their fallen friends. The girl slipped from his arms, grabbed by a woman, blue skinned and glassy eyed, and pulled into the shadows. Suddenly he didn't feel so victorious.

* * *

**John's face** was on fire. The gauze pressed against his cheek and over his left eye was soaked through, saturated with blood. It ran across his fingers hot, boiling red liquid that ran over his rapidly cooling skin. It was funny that after being so hot, shooting fire from his fingers, his entire body could feel like a block of ice. He assumed it was what Bobby felt like when he was powered up.

"Let's see it kid."

John blinked, or at least blinked his right eye, hey it had always been the better of the two, and turned toward Wolverine. He was flawless, splattered with blood but fully intact. The bastard had been slashed by Sabertooth as well. John pulled the cloth off his face in too much pain to complain. Wolverine winced, the corners of his mouth moving impossibly lower, his eyes narrowing a bit. It had to be bad if Wolverine was frowning over it.

"That's gonna need stitches."

"No, shit," He grumbled and started to put the cloth, though wet, back on his face.

Wolverine grabbed his arm stopping him from mopping up the running blood. John could feel it pooling in the crevices of his face and running into the corner of his mouth. Maybe he shouldn't have said that. Before he could think about it anymore Wolverine's fingers were digging into the cut prying his eye lids apart.

"Shit, asshole, le' go!" John tried to pull away but the hand around his head was too strong to fight against and his lighter was secure in his pocket. Light hit his eye and he forced a whimper out of his throat. His vision blurred for a second before Wolverine swam into view, clear despite the stinging.

"You're lucky you still have you eye."

"No thanks to you!" John spat and pulled away from Wolverine. He wasn't prepared for Wolverine to let go so easily so his head hit the table as he feel backward. He groaned and tried to pushed the wave of dizziness away.

"You're too cold, lost too much blood."

John was still fighting darkness when the gauze landed on his chest.

"Keep a clean bandage on that until we get back to the mansion. We'll get Hank to check you out."

John dropped the soaked gauze on the floor and pressed the new cloth over the slashes on his face. He hadn't really expected to go back to the mansion. Then again he hadn't planned on being the cause of a massacre or working for the X-men. He didn't really want to think about that. He felt guilty, he did, but he didn't want to be subject to their punishment, who was to say the two of them wouldn't be given to the police. He couldn't imagine the prison he'd be sent to, or how long he would be kept in those power inhibiting coffins.

John pulled himself into a sitting position eyes falling on Remy. He was hunched in his chair, twirling an unlit cigarette around his thumb and forefinger. His other hand was resting over his injured ribs. He'd wrapped a white bandage around the bleeding wound on his calf.

Scalphunter had hit him with a bullet from one of his handmade guns. He rarely missed and this case was no different, but thankfully the bullet had gone straight through. Remy insisted that he was fine, but he was was overly silent, thinking, something John had always dreaded about the Cajun. Then again Remy wasn't the only silent one. The entire plane was dead silent, except for Wolverine's grumbling.

Bobby was nursing a few scraps, talking to Kitty, Pete was okay, but his face gave away more injury than he appeared to have physically. Wolverine was checking everyone over with a oddly father like concern that grated on John's nerves and immediately set him on the defensive. Storm was flying the jet, Angel had stayed with the Morlocks.

He thought about talking to Remy, but what was he going to say. Remy was cut, bloody, bleeding still, and as guilt ridden as John was. Rogue was unconscious in the back. Too many of the Morlocks had died. The enemy had gotten away, and apparently they had won. If this was what victory felt like John didn't know how the "good guys" managed to keep it up.

* * *

**We're coming to the end...**


	15. Victims of Comfort

Disclaimer: I don't own a thing

Title: Born for Bad Luck

By: Peanutbutter

"_Boys I'm most done travellin', Lord I'm at my journey's end_

_B'lieve I'm most done travellin', Lord at my journey's end_

_Well I been lookin' for me a good partner, bad luck is my best friend..."_

**(_Born for Bad Luck_ song by Brownie McGhee)**

**Chapter 15: Victims of Comfort**

"_No rocket's gonna fly that high _

_There's no escaping the enemy he's you and I _

_We poison up our water, we're chokin' on the air_

_Last stop before it gets too late or is it already too late? _

_Is it already too late_

_For the victims of comfort?_

_Got no one else to blame _

_We're just the victims of comfort _

_We cannot soothe the pain..."_

**(_Victims of Comfort _song by T. Kimber and K. Moore)**

* * *

**Note: I've got the story out on time. It might be a miracle! Well enjoy.**

* * *

**Smoke curled** from the end of his cigarette the smell rushing into his nostrils and down his throat, thick and alive. The smoke animated him, cleansed him, a rush of dopamine to sooth the rushing of his mind. One knee was drawn to his chest the arm holding the cigarette resting against it. The other was stretched in front of him aching dully from the bullet wound. His chest was tight every time he took a breath, but when he leaned against the wall and stretched his torso out a bit it wasn't as tight. 

He couldn't sleep. John was snoring head flung back gauze stuck to his face and hair falling into his good eye. He didn't seem to have the problem, but he'd been given drugs to help him sleep and by all means it had been a long time since they'd actually slept. In fact Remy had been fighting sleep a few hours ago, but now, again, he was unable to shut his eyes.

The pills that were supposed to help him rest were still in his hand, palmed when the blue haired doctor tried to get him to swallow. He didn't feel secure enough to be that vulnerable. Not to mention that every time he closed his eyes, his head cradled in the white cotton of his pillow, she stared at him. Sweet round cheeks, brown hair, and blue eyes her fingers grasping desperately at the body of her mother. So he sat on the floor, where his leg ached and his ribs made it impossible to breathe properly, uncomfortable, and in pain, but in no danger of falling asleep.

Remy had made a lot of mistakes, wrong calls, botched mission, all of which had shaped him hardened him, and he had thought himself whole, a rough but finished product. Funny that he had suddenly been pushed into the realization the he was, in fact, far from the finished product had believed himself to be. There were so many instances where he'd made huge mistakes. He was supposed to be past that, past them, but while Sarah haunted his sleep the others haunted his waking hours. They flashed through his mind in quiet succussion, all of them victories at one point and failures in the end.

Belladonna Beabeux had become a part of his life almost as fast as his transfer from the streets to the mansion of Jean-Luc LeBeau. The entire transfer from street thief loner to the second in line to succeed the Thieves Guild had been surreal. All the sudden he had a brother, a father, a future, and in it all had been Bella.

He had loved Bella. Her wild hair, her wild ways, and the way she made him want to settle from the fast moving storm that was his life. She made him want to be free so when his father ordered him to marry her, to play into his ever calculating hands, to fulfill a destiny he'd never wanted, he rebelled. Everyday teenage shit, it just so happened he was gambling with lives with his refusal, his near escape from it all, but in the end he had come back.

Unfortunately there was someone as opposed to the marriage as Remy was. The son of the Assassin Guild leader, Julian, who happened to be Bella's brother hated him. Given Remy had never made it a point to gain Julian's approval. Antagonizing the Assassins had always been a great past time between the members of the Guild. When he finally decided that the marriage that would until the two Guilds was something he couldn't turn away from it had fallen apart.

Julian died before Remy could even register what he'd done. Remy's tuxedo coat was stained with blood, the bow tie and cummerbund Bella had picked out speckled with red. Julian was in a puddle of blood determined face slack, the tips of his fingers barely touching the handle of his gun. Bella fell over the body of her brother, blood was thicker than water after all. It didn't matter that it was self defense. Not even to his father.

The cigarette shook his finger trembling against his leg. He tightened his thumb around the leg of his loose fitting sweats trying to keep his grip on the cigarette loose. His hands twitched despite his effort to hold them still and ashes flaked onto the floor.

Exile was a terrible word.

His father sent him away, though it was never said and never would be, he was telling Remy that he could take care of himself. It was hard to be alone again. While such a shock and strange concept when he was twelve it had become something he relied on. In a few hours he'd lost his hold on reality, his girl, his family, and lastly his sanity.

His powers hadn't been easy to master, but he'd done it, scar marked his hands as reminders. So with everything else gone and his powers going haywire, misfiring, charging everything in sight, charging the bed while he slept, he was going though hell. That was where Essex came in.

He wasn't stupid. He could tell the bastard was thinking about how he could use him, but he had no money, no hope, except for the mutant doctor and from that desperation sprung a deal. Essex would help him control his powers, part of his brain removed kept for Remy's services as payment. It was only after he saw the Geneticists powers change his abilities altered by his 'patients' that he feared what would be done with his DNA. He'd do anything to get it back, had, and if it hadn't been for Rogue his soul would belong to the devil.

He was a thief a little to the left of the law, bending and sometimes breaking a few along the way, but he wasn't that bad, he had his morals, his loyalties, he kept his promises, only they weren't usually to a evil son of a bitch like Essex. People made mistakes, but most of the time they didn't involve a body count like the one he'd caused.

John was turning in his sleep. Remy watched him for a moment, his fingers dancing on the leg of his pants. Things were rushing at him again. The cigarette wasn't helping like he'd hoped. His head swam and she rushed into his mind. Sarah was screaming again. Against his will his eyes slid shut. She swam into view, tear streaked cheeks making his head ache and his throat burn. He pushed her face away only to have it replaced by another.

Genevieve sweet and innocent followed the little girl's fading image. The burn in his throat increased. He swallowed against it and forced smoke into his lungs, despite the impossible blockage. Her face was worse than the little girls.

When he opened his eyes, flooding his sensitive eyes with the dull light coming from under the door and the dim glow of ashes falling off his cigarette, Sarah was back, broken, confused, and lost. He wondered if the screaming voice in his head was anything like the voice's swimming in Rogue's. She still hadn't woken up. She was a lesson he'd thought he learned a long time ago.

She was someone else for him to think about, trapped in her own mind, or at least that was what the Professor had mentioned. He was supposed to asleep during that conversation, but he'd been desperate for information on her, and it was hard to get anything when you were one watch and confinement. He would have gotten more if John hadn't woken up, whining about something or another, the pills really had a way of knocking him out of it. He had no idea where he was for the first half of the day.

She was just on the other side of the wall. Sleeping, though her lids moved constantly, even when her eyes opened, blue, or bright green they never registered a thing. He'd heard the Professor, a burly man with a pleasant, smooth British accent, say she was fighting a battle, trapped in her own mind. He was supposed to be working with her, tending to her injuries, but it was funny he was completely fine, medically, expect for the coma.

"Ahh,"

Remy took a final drag on his cigarette before snuffing out the remains of it on the floor. His fingers cradled the butt between his thumb and forefinger. He flicked the butt toward the trash can by the door and grinned when it fell in.

"Ahh, man I feel like shit."

"Dat make sense," Remy answered his barely conscious friend eyes still focused on the trash can, "cause you look like it."

"I'd insult you, but I think I might die if I talk more."

"De medicine makin' ya sick?"

"No, it's the fact that half my face is stuck under Sabertooth's finger nails. It hurts like hell."

Remy got to his feet and walked to John's side, wincing because his bad leg had stiffened up, the other falling asleep. The bandage over John's eye was barely bloody, only small spots of red on white, the stitches were holding well. John was still ghostly pale.

"What happened? All I remember is getting off the jet."

Remy smirked, "Ya passed out, yelped like une petite fille and fell into de arms of Wolverine."

"I don't believe you."

"But, ya seemed ta like it a lot, snuggled rig't in dere, laid your head on his shoulder." John grimaced, odd through the bandages. He didn't speak but the raised his hands and flipped Remy the bird on both.

"Didn' know you wanted me dat way," Remy raised a brow and dodged the slow moving and half hearted punch John threw at him. "Remy be flattered, but he strictly for de ladies."

Instead of fireing back, something John always did he was silent fingers touching the gauze across his face. "It's pretty bad isn't it?"

Remy shrugged. "A' leas' you didn' get shot."

John snorted, coughed though the middle of the gesture. "I've gotta wear an eye patch."

Remy grinned, "Lucky for you homme, de pirate look is in."

"So we getting out of here?"

Where was the pretext, the beating around the bush, the small talk, then again he was talking about John. He was lucky he got the question with 'fuck' and 'dammit' laced though it.

"Not healed so well, de ribs, dey pinch a bit, and de leg couldn' take a run right now."

"That's why you've got me. I'll just blow them up, clear a path, save you ass, I've been doing that a lot lately." He widened his good eye, his brow raising in challenge, the corner of his mouth curling upward. "I think you're losing you touch."

"Shut up, 'fore I take care of dat other eye."

"Touchy," he paused somewhere between a laugh and got serious. A serious John was never a good thing. "I don't know what they' re going to do. I mean you saw, the bodies, the," he swallowed, "we fucked up to bad to ignore. They aren't going to let us walk away."

"An Essex," Remy added, "He gonna be after us."

"I've seen how the government handles the 'dangerous' mutants." He shook his head. "I'm not going like that."

"De all about second chances right, de X-men like to forgive, non."

"You have to be worthy of that second chance, have a desire to run around in spandex and a cape."

"You did wear dat uniform, leather uni-tard, tres belle." There came another one of those punches, half-hearted and only grazing the side of Remy's arm.

"You don' even know what dat means," Remy defended.

"I know you enough to know you're being an ass."

Remy shrugged, "Dat true enough."

"So we getting out of here?"

Remy's eyes crawled toward the white wall separating them from Rogue. There wasn't anything he could do. He tried to save her, failed, but tried and if they stayed they were going to get thrown in jail.

"She'll be okay."

"Huh," Remy mumbled and pulled his eyes away from the wall. He tried to look indifferent.

"I know the X-Men, I know her," John paused for a moment, "we got her back here. She's home, she's okay. She always was stronger than I pegged her for."

Remy didn't respond to John's comment. He was, thankfully, interrupted by Hanks lumbering and distinct foot falls. He headed for his bed limping as fast as he could.

"Two days," he whispered as he slipped under the covers.

He closed his eyes as light flooded the room. He slowed his breathing as John started a loud protest, whining for more drugs. Even though he wasn't tried he forced himself still, telling his body to relax, his mind to calm and before he was ready for it he slept.

* * *

"**Rogue?" **

Rogue lifted her head tear stained cheeks drying instantly as she wiped an arm across her face. The darkness lifted. There was light again, air, hope.

"Rogue?"

"Ah'm here!" she called joy rushing over her. She knew that voice. It had to be him. She got to her feet ignoring the way her legs wobbled or the fear that was clutching her heart.

He walked into view into the empty room and Rogue was rushed into the past. It couldn't be him. He wasn't large and hairy, strange eyes, strange face. His head was smooth his stature strong but slim, defined where the other had been bulk. She remembered him this way, thought of him in his original form, but it had been so long since she'd seen the Professor as himself.

"I know I look different Rogue. This is my astral projection." He paused for a moment, smiling. "It's how I see myself and oddly enough it's how you still see me."

"Ah can' help it," Rogue started, "you looked like this when I met you."

"No need to apologize Rogue. Though my new body is wonderful, it is wonderful to be alive, I find the comfort of seeing myself as I remember extremely satisfying, even if it is only for a short time."

She swallowed for a moment. "Did I absorb you?"

"No, no Rogue you are safe. You are back at the institute. You are home."

She thought of Carol, her angry blue eyes, and determined voice. By now he knew. He could read minds as easy as breathing. There was no way he didn't already know that she had killed Carol Danvers.

"You didn't kill her Rogue."

The tears were back, they were her constant, annoying, companion, but how could she not cry. Her entire life she had fought against hurting others, defending the defenseless. She wasn't supposed to hurt anyone. It was one of the reasons she'd gotten the cure and the reason she'd come back to the X-men when her powers returned.

"But I did," she whispered, "She remembers. I see it though her eyes. I was awake when I touched her. My eyes were open. I could have stopped, pulled away, fought back, but I didn't! I just laid there and let it happen. I let it happen!"

"It is not your fault, young Rogue. You have always been too hard on yourself."

"But this is murder! How can I be easy on myself."

The light that had flooded the room when the Professor entered was starting to fade, the darkness rushing back over her. She didn't fight it. She couldn't, she didn't have the strength.

His grip was strong, demanding, like the hand that had shown her Remy. She blinked the darkness receding slightly.

"I am not the only one that wants you to fight."

Rogue reached for the the hand holding her but it faded as she reached to touch it. The Professor was still across the room. Who had touched her?

"Wolverine is as protective of you here as he is in life. You sees reason where you do not."

It made sense now, the comforting rush she'd gotten from his touch last time, the bruising grip, as he forced her to watch the events happened just above her consciousness.

"He hovers around you, others are there as well."

She didn't notice the light flooding the area all around her.

* * *


	16. I Hate To See The Sun Go Down

**Disclaimer: I don't own a thing**

**Title: Born for Bad Luck**

**By: Peanutbutter**

"_Boys I'm most done travellin', Lord I'm at my journey's end_

_B'lieve I'm most done travellin', Lord at my journey's end_

_Well I been lookin' for me a good partner, bad luck is my best friend..."_

**(_Born for Bad Luck_ song by Brownie McGhee)**

**Chapter 16: I Hate To See The Sun Go Down**

"_I hate to see evenin' sun go down_

_I hate to see evenin' sun go down_

_Cause it makes me think, I'm on my last go-round..."_

**(_I hate To See The Sun Go Down _****from the CD "Hoodoo Lady" in the Columbia Roots 'n' Blues series)**

**The astral **plane was a strange place, one Rogue had never been able to successfully manipulate. Dr. Gray had always been able to. With a wave of her hand, or the astral projection of her hand, the world would shift and bend. She said it was hard manipulating someone else's mind, easier on her own, but for Rogue it had always been impossible. Jean tried to explain that having physical form, giving Jean a form, was a part of it, but she had never been able to grasp it.

Even the Professor had tried to teach her. When her powers had resurfaced after the cure the Professor had helped her sort it out. Her mind had gone crazy when she'd accidentally absorbed her first victim. The way her body had screamed, afraid confused, extra voices in her head adding to the confusion. It was that all over again, except now she was lost. Carol had better control than she had ever had.

Then there was Logan. She had never seen any of the psyches locked in her mind, except for Cody, all of them had been shiftless, bodiless voices. Sometimes Logan had been loud, when she first absorbed him, after Magneto had nearly killed her, he had been nearly uncontrollable, but over the years his voice had been almost non existent. There had been comfort, anger that wasn't hers, and brute force when she felt weak, but never a body to the voice, until now.

The Professor was talking about him and suddenly he was there. She didn't go to him, awed by the appearance of his features. He melted together features coming into focus as she remember them. His scruffy face, broad shoulders, silly grin that stretched on corner of his mouth, materialized within moments.

There had been a time when she wanted nothing more than to be with him. Drawn by his loner attitude, connected by his unknown past, or the past she was unwilling to remember. She had had a crush on him, something that had soon faded into a different kind of longing, something she craved more than a lover's touch, he was the first member of the family she'd constructed for herself.

As reluctant as she had been to admit her need for parental love, connection, control, he was the first to offer it, but he was the first one she accepted it from. She felt abandoned by him when he left, overjoyed when he returned, proud when he was proud of her. His life, no matter how private he tried to keep it, had become intertwined with hers. She secretly hoped that one day he'd think of her in the same why she thought of him. However unwilling she had been at first to have one, she thought of him like a father, and she hoped he would think of her as a daughter.

"Hey stripes."

She bit her lip, emotion flooding her, she was a bit annoyed by it. She had always tried to be strong in front of him. Logan was strong, even when he was dying inside. She thought of Jean, her lifeless body carried by Logan back to the mansion. His tight thin lips as he stared at her grave, dry faced when the rest cried. She could be strong, for him, to be like him.

"Ah didn't know ya were here."

He cocked his head to the side, laughed, short, more like a snort. "Stripes I'm always here for you."

The tears were glistening in her eyes. She swallowed against them. "Ah locked ya up."

He shook his head. "Not a lock in this world that could keep me out. Besides I backed off, gave you room. I understood what I was gettin' into when I touched you."

She lunged for him, unable to be strong, sickened by her weakness, but she'd had enough, needed him, his touch, his comfort. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight. His fingers in her hair, they felt real, the breath on her cheek, the smell of him. All of it was too real. He seemed so real.

"Professor?"

Rogue lifted her head wiping her tears on the back of her hand and releasing Logan's shoulders. She looked toward the questioning voice. It was Jean, barely visible in the world, not nearly as solid as the Professor, or as real as Logan. Rogue knew at once that Jean was a psyche like Logan, but Rogue had only touched Jean once, absorbed her for a second. She was barely there. Rogue stepped away from Logan, curious if he would go to her. He barely glanced at her.

"Jean is here to help me." The Professor started. "In order to get things back in order we must sort out your mind."

Rogue crossed her arms over her chest defiant. "I can't lock her away."

Logan growled, "You're being stubborn."

Rogue ignored him.

"We still need to get things in order. You need to learn to control this plane, your own mind. Everyone is scrambled. The unprepared subjects you absorbed are floating around, bits and pieces of them everywhere. Carol does not know how to control this, can't, but you can. We have to set things right, or you will go mad."

It wasn't killing Carol, nothing to do with her really, at least not yet. She could sort things out. She nodded, unable to speak.

The Professor nodded, "Then we start with the first who touched you, Remy LeBeau. I have gathered most of the memories connected to him."

Rogue wanted to ask what was next, how they were going to do it, but before she could everything was black and suddenly she was filled with light and no longer herself.

_**0o0**_

_Her name_ _was Belladonna and she was skipping around the grounds picking flowers. Her hair was bright blond and pulled back in a pink bow. Remy narrowed his eyes. She looked stupid, and why was she picking flowers anyway. It was pointless. _

"_Ya look stupid," he called down at her and smirked happily when she dropped her bouquet. _

_Remy was expecting tears, but she turned her ice blue eyes on him and Remy almost winced, they said his eyes were scary. This girl, this girl's gaze froze him to his spot. _

"_Ya t'ink so Remy LeBeau," she hissed his name it he was the scum of the earth. _

_Remy could only manage to stammer a 'yes' under her gaze, though he was thinking maybe he should retract his comment. _

"_Come down here and say dat, I'll show you whose stupid." _

_It was a challenge and Remy had never been one to refuse a challenge. _

_**0o0**_

There was more, things she couldn't see only flashes, strangled memories, disorganized, violent, sad. She twisted afraid of what lay ahead, but there was a hand on her shoulder. Logan held her, steadied her. She pulled away from the memories, remembering that he wasn't her. She was Rogue.

Remy LeBeau, her kidnapper, the man who ended up saving her was telling her a story, but everything was out of place.

"We need to find the rest put them in order." The Professor was beside her. "Jean, what's next."

The wave rushed over her again, but this time she stayed herself and watched, even though his fears, strong and virile, rushed at her.

**0o0**

"_Remy what's wrong?" _

_Remy stared at the glowing rock in his palm wondering the same thing. What was going on? They had been skipping stones in the lake when the rock started to glow. It was so hot against his palm. He wondered if he should throw it, but before he could put action to his thoughts the rock exploded in his hand. It hurt too bad to scream, but he could see the blood running down is hands and across his meaty fingers. The flesh had been stripped away with the blast. _

_Bella was screaming, crying, her hands over her mouth. "Remy, what's going on?" _

_Remy shook his head and fell to the ground his other hand fisting in the grass. He didn't know it had started to glow until Bella told him. He pulled his hands, suddenly warm, away from the ground and jumped backward as it ignited and exploded as well. Bella screamed again and Remy closed his eyes trying to calm his fears. _

"_Get mon Pere," he whispered. "Hurry."_

_**0o0**_

_Her lips were sweet and soft against his own. He'd never been kissed before. He liked it very much and it was even better that it was with Bella._

Oblivion, sweet, strong, and complete. She basked in it. Felt it rush over her, calm her even as it calmed him. The delight of acceptance, of a kiss that was so much more than it was supposed to be.

**0o0**

_He was supposed to make a choice. Genevieve or his brother. He didn't want to do it. Didn't what to have to. Henri was silent, Genevieve weeped, Sabertooths, hands fisted on each of them maliciously. _

"_Times up." _

_They fell. He could save one. He had to choose. He didn't want to._

Guilt, anger, relief, loathing. He saved his brother lost her, an innocent he had dragged into the fight. The joy of the job was lost. He had completed the mission, yes, but at what cost.

**0o0**

"_Why ya always flirtin' wi't dose girls," she was near tears her blue eyes brimming with sorrow. _

_Remy shrugged. He hadn't meant to hurt her, but it was interesting to be loved, even if part of it was a little 'charm' he'd projected onto them. He'd spent most of his life being loathed and ignored, that was until Jean-Luc took him in and even then he was second class. He was just adopted, not really the heir, not really a son, a burden to most; a freak to nearly everyone. _

"_Gawd, LeBeau," she turned away from him him, "If you don' know I love you. You' a bigger idiot dan I t'oug't." She was so angry she was shaking. _

_Remy reached for her and was surprised when she leaned into his touch. "Je t'aime." Remy breathed and pulled her closer, "I'm sorry, Bella." _

The thief had fallen in love.

**0o0**

"_I won' do it!" _

"_You will, Remy LeBeau, dis will stop de fighten' dis will end a war!" Jean-Luc pushed away from his desk and turned toward his window and gazed across the grounds. His voice was soft when he spoke again, "You love her, non? _

_Remy was fuming his anger near out of control. "Love or not, dis should be my decision, it should be her's. Dis my life Pere, and I don' like people makin' decisions for me!" _

"_You will marry Belladona and you will succeed me in the guild. You will end dis war, dere's no discussion." _

_**0o0**_

_Bella turned in her veil her eyes sparkling with happiness. Remy hated to crush her enthusiasm. He did love her, had always loved her, but it was his life. He wanted to choose what he did with it. _

"_Bella, mon couer, I can' marry ya, no' now." _

_**0o0**_

_He should have known it was going to happen. He shouldn't have run, but it was too late. Julien had always been a problem, but he'd ignored the threat, even pushed the rival between them. He'd never given any thought to how dangerous Bella's brother could be. It wouldn't do any good to tell him he was going to run, that he wasn't going to marry Bella anyway. _

_**0o0**_

_The blood was everywhere. His fingers permanently stained. He could still see her face. Vacant eyes, fat tears rolling down her perfectly made up cheeks, the way the blood rushed over the white satin of her wedding dress. The betrayal in bright blue eyes that hardened into hatred. _

_He tried to wash it off but the shower didn't do it. The water wasn't hot enough, his fingers couldn't rub hard enough. Every time he looked down it was still there. The scream built in his throat begging to escape, but he pushed it down, screamed inside and pushed the faucet to hot and the cold to off. Stream filled the room, his skin burned, but it still wasn't enough._

_**0o0**_

"_You were to marry her ta save dis Guild," Jean-Luc paused for a moment head still turned toward the window. He refused to look Remy in the eye. "Dey demand a life for a life. Dey want revenge. It will be war." _

"_Dis not my fault," Remy pleaded. "He was goin' ta kill me." _

"_You were going to marry dat girl ta save us, now you gonna leave to do de same." _

"_I don'..." _

"_Dis exile Remy, you no longer a t'ief and N'Orlean is no longer your home."_

_**0o0**_

Lost, alone, betrayed, and angry control slipped.

_He was tired. His eyes were bright red and blood shot, his skin pale, and his body suffering from lack of sleep, anxiety. He couldn't sleep not when he awoke with his bed glowing, when his hands, volatile and uncontrollable, failed him. His powers were going haywire. _

_**0o0**_

The images sped up, clearer longer than before. She saw him talking to Essex. She felt his apprehension, his fear, and his the waves of desperation that washed over him. He felt he had no other choice. He needed that control. She understood. She understood him. Suddenly the stranger didn't seem like such a stranger anymore.

The images faded. Bits rushed in disjointed, words, faces, names she couldn't place and she was back with the Professor, and Logan to her right. She blinked the astral plane was taking on color, blues rushing through the white. Her feet were on solid ground. He appeared in front of her, Remy LeBeau grinned and winked.

"Bonjour, chere."

**0o0o0**

"**Yes, yes** that's an excellent bit of slight of hand. I didn't even see it!" Hank let out a laugh. Remy grinned and started to deal another hand.

John turned away shaking his head. Only Remy could make friends with his enemies. He had been making Hank laugh for near forty minutes.

"Mr. Allerdyce do you wish to join that game?"

John turned his good eye toward the bit of desk Hank had cleared off for the card game. Remy was grinning lopsidedly and shuffling his cards.

"I think I'll pass. If you know he's cheating what's the fun?"

Hank smiled, "That is the best part. If I can catch him, he's not allowed to use the same trick again. I rule out enough and he'll be unable to win."

"Ah, but de still de skill, mon amie. I can still win de game usin' not'ing but mon own skill."

John turned away, ignoring Hanks enthusiastic comments and Remy's bravado. A night of rest really had done a lot for him. He felt better and with the pills the pain was minimal. The scratches on his face were healing, but he'd have one hell of a scar, lucky for him chicks dug scars, or at one time they used to. Remy wasn't faring as well. He faked the good walk the easy breathing, but John could see him wince when he laughed, hesitate before he climbed a set of stairs, sat down, he was a master at hiding how he was really feeling.

"Excellent, really!"

John rolled his eyes. He turned back toward the door just in time to see Bobby walking past. He was talking with Logan something about Rogue. He looked at his knees trying to fray indifference and set his ears to listening. They had been tight lipped on her and besides the two of them might let the prisoners futures slip.

"...I don't understand why I can't see her. I just want, I want to help!"

"I get that kid, but there isn't anything you can do. The Professor's got in under control."

Bobby crossed his arms, frost blowing from his mouth. He was pissed.

"And them," he spat.

John turned toward Remy and Hank, hoping they would ignore him, ignore that he was so close, and obviously listening. He was sure they were looking at him eyes boring into the back of his head.

"It's all their fault and we're helping them! Are we just going to let them go?"

Well that was a little loud. Was he supposed to ignore that. He scratched his head. Remy was still playing but his posture was rigid. He was listening too.

"Things are complicated." Logan said the sentence in a growl, apparently his opinion was set.

"They always are but we know who our enemies are.!"

Good old Bobby, everything was black and white, not a gray area in sight.

"Don't like 'em any more than you do, but we're not sending them off, not like this. We'll let 'em heal, get Rogue better and then we'll deal with it."

"That LeBeau guy's a criminal and John, John..." Bobby trailed off.

John wished he could turn around, his neck was cramping. He was afraid to move and stop their talking.

"John's just..."

Bobby didn't get to finish his sentence. Kitty walked into the hall.

"Hey guys. Can we see her?"

John turned back around. They weren't talking about him anymore at least not now. Kitty had ruined that bit. They rehashed everything on Rogue. Finally the conversation circled back to the inmates. Kitty looked into the room when she asked the question.

John smiled, mocking her as she glared. He winked again, enjoying the angry pink twinge that rushed over her cheeks and neck. Bobby grabbed her elbow and John didn't need to look up to know he was making that face, that back-off-if-you-know-whats-good-for-you face. The three disappeared down the hall.

"I need a cigarette!" John announced and stretched his arms over his head and turned to Remy. "How 'bout you."

"Oui, what do you say Hank?"

"I have tried to discourage Logan from a similar habit," Hank started, "but it will get you outside, and it may be good for a bit of fresh air."

"Dat nice of ya," Remy shuffled his cards a final time and dropped them into his pocket, which Hank promptly plucked out and laid on the desk.

"I do warn if you try to run, you will not escape me. Being your doctor I know exactly where to hit to take you down most effectively and most painfully."

John cringed, "You've been around Logan too long."

"Perhaps that is true, but it makes the statement no less menacing. I mean it."

"Right, so don' run from de fluffy blue beast, got it." Remy stretched, grabbed his side and started for the door, trailing Hank.

**0o0o0**

**Remy wasn't** the last to appear. He stayed on the bright white area that was slowly taking form, becoming something more than empty space. There was a ground a sky was taking form and under her feet, she was sure, there was grass.

Kim Il Sung, Scrambler, took form next, not quiet like Remy. He was loud, sneering, full of hate. His memories were like shifting through a pit of tar. Each one was dirty, full of blood and mayhem. The snippets of his childhood tore at her and buried her in fear and misery. The more recent ones were painted in blood.

Even as she pushed him away he clung to her, tendrils of his angry psyche sticking to her mind. Her eyes flew open, falling on his full form. He stood beside the card shuffling Remy LeBeau.

"You soul sucking vampire," he hissed.

**0o0o0**

**John **face was hurting like a bitch. He reached up fingers splayed over the wound like the contact alone would siphon the pain away. He suppressed the groan building in his chest. Remy was worse off, shot, though not too badly, and cracked ribs he was the worse for wear and he hardly made a sound about it. He was also palming his pain pills. The sedatives that John had been relying on to sleep, he was dropping in his pocket. Remy had suggested they both skip their evening dose. John didn't mention that he knew Remy had been skipping all along. He wondered why, but couldn't find a moment to ask, between, Hank's exams and the shuffling of people in and out of the medical bay. They never had a moment alone until it was time to sleep and John didn't feel much like talking by then. He knew the jist of it anyway, keep your head clear, by being in excruciating pain. Remy had been spouting crap all day, bravado that Remy tried to get John to participate in. Given it had allowed them to stake out the front of the mansion in the guise of a cigarette break, but he still wasn't enthusiastic about joining Remy's psycho pep squad of one.

"De security, it's tight."

John rolled onto his side, pressing his bad eye against the pillow. The cloth pulled on the scabs forming on the scratches, but he ignored it as Remy swam into view from behind a black wall. The damn bandage was really getting on his nerves, he almost figured he'd be better off without it.

"Anything we should be worried about?"

"Dere was a camera on each corner, laser sensors in de yard, inferred, 'bout de same as las' time but," Remy paused. "Dey have ta be crazy not ta change somet'ing."

"We weren't out there that long. We'll probably get another look." John rolled back over. His face was protesting and he was sure the antiseptic was running into his eye despite the patch made of gauze they'd put over it. "You can only stretch out a cigarette break for so long." He fingered the pain pill and pulled his hand from his pocket.

"You thinkin' we'll get out of here soon?"

Remy shrugged.

John blinked his good eye, then his bad. His face really hurt like a bitch.

"De security codes are gonna be de hard t'ing to get."

"We just gotta get one look." They just needed a little good luck, but considering their track record it wasn't going to happen any time soon.

**All done and guess what a sneak peek. I am begging for forgiveness from the huge delay, but things are done other than a few little re-reads and such, but there are five more chapters. Yeah it's finished and I've even been thinking of the sequel which I won't post till I'm mostly done, but yeah me, and sorry, sorry, sorry, it was such a long wait.**

**_From Chapter 17_**

**0o0o0o0o0**

"**Pyro." **

John had known there was someone outside the door long before it opened, long before Bobby stepped into the room. Remy was dozing in the corner, eyes shut, they flew open when Bobby walked in.

The mention of his name didn't warrant a response, at least not a verbal one. He raised a brow. The bandage tape stuck to the other brow forcing it down when he raised the other. It pulled on the hair on his forehead and he suppressed the wince that resulted from his calculated non nonchalance.

"I need to talk to you."

Right another lecture on trust. Just what he needed, how it was all his fault, how he was an idiot and it was his fault that Rogue was still out. He'd done enough talking for one day. He would pass on that, but then again, refusing would force him to speak. He got up, despite his promise not to and walked out the door.

Bobby leaned against the wall, calm, or at least calmer than John had seen him since he came asking for help. "They sent me to talk to you."

"Who?" John asked verging on laughter, who would want to talk to him.

Bobby sighed, slicked hair falling out of place as he bounced against the wall, breaking the defensive posture of his clasped arms. "I'm not going to lie," he rolled his eyes and met John's for the first time. "I'm supposed to say that we voted on it, came to a decision, but really it was the Professor, and Logan always votes the way the Professor does, so it's two to like five."

"What the hell are you talking about?" John spat, annoyed that he was being discussed at all.

"They want you to consider staying here."

John couldn't help it. He laughed, a snort that ended in a gruff laugh, but a true laugh. He had to force it back for appearance's sake. "Are you all crazy." What had the Professor gotten from their conversation that made him think that he would want to stay.


	17. Trouble in Mind

**Disclaimer: I don't own a thing**

**Title: Born for Bad Luck**

**By: Peanutbutter**

"_Boys I'm most done travellin', Lord I'm at my journey's end_

_B'lieve I'm most done travellin', Lord at my journey's end_

_Well I been lookin' for me a good partner, bad luck is my best friend..."_

**(_Born for Bad Luck_ song by Brownie McGhee)**

**Chapter 17: Trouble in Mind**

"_Trouble in mind, and I'm blue_

_Oh you know I won't be blue always_

_You know the sun is gonna shine in my back door some day..."_

_**(Trouble in Mind **_**by Richard Jones**_**)**_

**0o0o0o0**

**Rogue ignored** Scrambler, her eyes closed and she let herself fall, it wasn't a long fall, into your own mind you can only fall so far. She reached for the next psyche. It was getting easier, memories unfolding, put away, filed, powers rushing over her in waves, faster and faster. Sometimes she held onto the powers relishing the new sensations the joy the user received when executing their gifts. Yes, gifts, most viewed them as such, though the terminology was different from mind to mind. Impressions of 'necessity' to 'completely kick ass'. Some were too painful to hold on to, slippery with misuse, filthy to the touch, she shrugged away from them, but was forced to touch it, if only for a moment, to feel their memory of it, no matter how horrible the uses.

More people were appearing. John, Bobby, Kitty, Pete, Jubilee, and Cody shadows of the long departed Jean Grey and bursts of Scott Summers. Her body ached at the sight of them. Lost not that long ago their faces had already started to fade from her mind. They swam back with such clarity that she had to push away tears. They whispered to her, when others had spoken clearly, there wasn't enough to make a complete form, just words and small emotions. Fleeting, shadowy memories, and even more fleeting vestiges of their amazing powers.

Her mind became a very crowded place so at the Professor's urging, a hand on her shoulder, the look of his clear familiar eyes, and and she began to sort them through. They were hard to let go of, but she told herself they would never be truly locked away, at least not the ones she cared for. Most went willingly enough. Others fought. By the time she was done she wanted to sleep, but she didn't know how that was possible. She was already asleep.

Rogue opened her eyes. The Astral Plane was beautiful, no longer empty. It was her home. She had wondered for years which it really was, the calming south of Caldecott or the green grounds of the Xavier Institute. The mansion rolled out in front of her and peace rolled over her.

"You have shaped your world."

Rogue turned to the Professor, smiling. "They're all in there. I can feel them, living in the walls, talking, laughing, not banished, or forgotten."

It was quiet, comforting, her mind had never been a peaceful place before.

"There is one more thing you need to do."

"I have to talk to Carol."

"You have to take back your life."

Rogue bit her lip, stubborn still, "I don't know what I'll do. Not yet."

The Professor was trying to talk to her, but it was her mind. She blocked him. He could break through and force her to do things a different way, but he wouldn't push it. He let everyone make their own decisions how ever wrong they may be. She knew where Carol was, pushed into the furthest corner of her mind, locked up by the Professor. She was angry, scared, and confused. Rogue was responsible, on some level for all of it.

She pushed through the locks, but they had already been loosed and let herself in. The world was chaos, rolling floors, a rushing sky over head, the colors was skewed. It was raining. In seconds she was a soaked her hair stuck to her face and water ran into her eyes. She couldn't see more than an inch in front of her face. Every step she took toward the center of the room was a battle. The wind pushed against her as she tried to stay up right.

"Who put me here?"

Rogue looked up, rain pelted her eyes forcing her gaze back down. Carol was flying overhead. Rogue didn't know if she should expect an attack. She wondered whether or not she'd be able to defend agaisnt one.

"The Professor..." Rogue started.

"That old freak. He locked me away. You know I won't stay, not forever. I'll get out. You can't take my life. You can't do this to me!"

Suddenly she was there, the rain slacked and the blond girl fell from the sky to stand in front of Rogue. She landed lightly, her toes resting on the floor, it rippled, before her foot lay flat. The ground ceased it's rolling. She was wearing a green uniform, a thin mask resting on the apples of her cheeks, just revealing the blue of her eyes.

"Do you know who I am!" She demanded.

"Carol Danvers..." Rogue started but the blond shook her head.

Rogue tried again, searching for something. It was surprisingly easy to reach for the answer. She opened her mouth to speak the name of her alter ego, but Carol had put her hand to her head, pained.

"You think I don't feel, I feel you in my memories, rifling through. Don't you understand that they're mine?"

"I'm sorry." Rogue whispered her confidence fading.

"Doesn't matter," she spat, "and it's not Ms. Marvel either." Her costume faded to a girl in jeans and a loose t-shirt. Her fingers fisted in the fabric for a moment. "I keep doing this. I don't know how I'm doing this, but I think it and there it is. I get angry and the sky rolls, rains, screams, but even as it follows my will, it doesn't. It's not what I want, not exactly how I see it."

Rogue swallowed afraid to speak.

"I was a girl, and I wasn't ready to die."

"I didn't mean to..."

Carol looked up from her shirt, eyes narrowing. "Yeah well, thats life right. I didn't mean to die, and you didn't mean to kill me." She was bitter her voice breaking.

"I just," Rogue started again, but Carol was angrier, louder. Her voice was dwarfed by the blond's.

"It's life. You want it, I want it, and I'm going to fight for it."

She struck before Rogue could dodge. Rogue felt her body ache at the impact. Her body flew, with no hope of stopping until the wall appeared behind her back, twisted and unsteady, but hard as hell. She groaned and slid to the ground. She was sure she was bleeding, but this wasn't really. Her hand brushed the back of her head and came away bright red.

"Are you going to give up so easily!" Carol mocked, floating overhead, just out of reach. "Or are we going to have a real fight." Her leg lowed back lazily and zipped forward just as Rogue rolled out of the way.

**0o0o0o0**

"**What happened** with your powers?"

John shrugged and pulled his eyes from the unfamiliar plains of Charles Xavier's neutral face and focused on the tips of his standard issue institute tennis shoes. He'd been in them before, the first time he'd lived there he'd worn them. He didn't have a choice then. His shoes were full of holes. They were white. The only color was dirt smudged across the toe and a navy blue 'N' etched on the back heel. He'd hated them then and he hated being in them again, but his clothes were pretty much trashed and he didn't want to walk around barefoot.

"There was a surge, your powers have gone through quite a transformation, how are you at controlling it?"

He shrugged again, flexed his foot, his toe brushed the front of the shoe. They were nearly too small. He really needed half a size bigger.

"Is this something that developed while working with Magneto?"

John hadn't been looking for it, but he could feel it, the Professor was looking, gleaming the thoughts John was carelessly setting free. His shields went up automatically.

"There is no need to be defensive," Xavier said calmly, smiling slowly and reassuringly.

John raised a brow, "Sure," he paused for a moment before continuing. "Just tell what it is you want. Besides shouldn't you be with Rogue?"

"She is doing better, but there are things I can't even help with." His brows creased for only a moment, emotions hard to read, the question did little to distract the Professor, but John was hardly surprised.

"I want to help you. Your powers have gone through a new transformation, an entirely different stage. You should learn to control it and harness that power." He reached for a file laying across the desk.

John watched the Professor's fingers as they pulled the file open. He saw a flash of his picture in the corner. It was his file. How many times had that been pulled out? He hated to think that it was still at the institute.

"Shouldn't you burn that, not a member of your little group anymore." He wanted to snatch it out of the man's hands but that would show that he cared and he really didn't want to do that.

"You were a student John. I remember all of my students."

"That hottest your fire burned four years ago was 130 F but by the reported damage to the warehouse I would believe it's doubled, if not tripled. The fire was reported to be blue."

John shrugged. "No big, I've been doing it for years." It was a lie, he had no idea where it had come from, the slow burning in his stomach that swam over his entire body, consuming, uncontrollable. It was a joy he was reluctant to acknowledge.

"I see."

John knew the Professor wasn't in his head but by the tone, the tilt of his head, and the way the Professor rearranged the papers it was obvious his lie was unconvincing. He broke eye contract, back to his shoes, back to something safe.

"We done here?"

"Yes," the Professor seemed reluctant. John braved another look at him. The look on his face, searching, worried, damn disappointed, it was a look John couldn't stand. "I suppose we are. I would like to help you, run some tests, see the extent of your powers, your control."

"More stuff for your file," John sneered, eyes straying to the wall. He needed to get out, have a smoke. He didn't want to be anywhere near the man anymore. "I'll just keep it to myself."

"If we can figure out where it's coming from we might be able to help others with similar powers."

"Always the mission," John said and got to his feet. Wolverine was waiting on the other side of the door, but he would take the man's rough handling any day to escape Xavier's scrutiny. He paused fingers seconds from turning the knob. "When are you letting us go?"

There was a moment of silence before he answered, "What do you plan on doing when we release you?"

What was he playing at John didn't need a father. He was fine on his own. He'd needed help, but it wasn't going to happen again. He was done with being weak and he was sick of Xavier's concern.

John didn't turn around but his fingers slipped off the knob and into his pockets. He couldn't hide the grin on his face so he faced the door. "You know I've been thinking about that. Figured I'd start small, mailboxes, doghouses, cars, before I moved on to bigger game, buildings, airplanes, you know the bigger the better, and see how long it takes me to turn it to ash." He grinned, malicious, on the verge of laughter as he turned around, eager for a reaction, sure he'd get the one he wanted. "If you want I can send you the data on that, and you can add it to my file."

"Your anger is misplaced." There was something shimmering in the Professor's eyes that he hadn't seen before, and the he had to force the smile to remain on his face.

"So is your concern, old man, I don't want anything to do with you, or the X-men."

"Yet you came to us when you needed help."

It was a blow and he gritted his teeth. He didn't want to say that he had no where else to go, that they were the first people he'd thought of. It just pissed him off more. He grabbed the knob turned from the Professor and rushed out the door. He slammed it, ignoring Wolverine's narrowed eyes.

"Back to the cages, Wolfy." John barked.

Wolverine grabbed his arm, fingers bruising his flesh, and pulled him down the hall.

**0o0o0o0**

**She was** going to lose. Her powers were failing her. She couldn't drain Carol's powers. Her fingers had brushed over the blond's skin countless times, lingering touches that should have sent the girl into a coma, but she had never wanted that, and Carol brushed every touch off. Rogue got pounded for her efforts. The training she'd received in hand to hand was helpful but it was hard to counteract inhuman strength. She couldn't put a defensive move on her that would harm, not to mention all of her offensive strikes failed.

She was going to loose this battle, and in doing so she was going to loose her life. She didn't want to die, but neither had Carol. Rogue rolled away from the punch. Carol's fist was buried in the ground. Rogue jumped onto her back, a maneuver she had done countless times. Her fingers wrapped around the girl's throat. She squeezed. She willed her powers to work, but Carol merely laughed and shook. She rippled like the waves in the ocean and Rogue was tossed to her left flying across the rocky ground. Her body was gouged on impact; rocks scraped across her palms. She smashed her arm against the hard ground. She was sure it was broken.

Even if the injuries were in her mind she couldn't talk away the pain, the reality of the wounds, the blood was too red the pain too real. She rolled over her head pounding the world spinning into darkness.

"You ready for the end?"

Rogue wanted to scream, but her mouth wouldn't work, her tongue refused to flex. Carol was hovering over her fist raised. Rogue closed her eyes. She didn't want to die, not like this. She didn't want to die.

It rushed over her as soon as the thought rolled through her mind. The sensation was familiar, chilling, a pleasant tingling rushing over her body. She felt her flesh knit, the bones in her arm were fusing together, her body, depleted was replenished. She wasn't tired, not anymore. She opened her eyes.

Carol was staring horror stricken, her fist still raised to finish the job. There were tears in her blue eyes. Rogue knew, like a whisper in her ear, why. Carol wasn't terrified of the healing wounds, or, Rogue felt, the fire jumping to life in her hand or the rocks under her fingers glowing with power. Rogue's mind was suddenly open to possibilities, powers that she had touched not so long ago, sprang to life and Carol's followed the flow of power. Carol was a afraid of herself and killing blow she was about to inflict. It was her own hesitation that had let Rogue slip in and this time she wasn't going to be leaving.

Rogue smiled and sat up. Carol fell backward.

"What's going on?"

Rogue rose off the ground and floated even with Carol. She could fight, fight better. She wanted to live. It was crazy that she had been willing to let Carol win.

"I don't want to die," Carol whispered. The ground rushed up at her and she hit hard. Rogue remained aloft. Carol coughed the impact having knocked her breath out. She was hardly able to pick herself back up. Rogue knew she was the strong one now, Carol's strength could be hers there was fire at her finger tips, energy in her palms.

Carol began to cry. "I can't kill you, I can't, I can't, but I don't want to die."

"You won't die," Rogue lowered herself to the ground her fingers reaching for Carol's. For the first time her powers didn't pull, but gave. The blond's powers flowed back into her. It was a gift she had hoped for since draining Cody. She knew it wasn't real, that it wouldn't last past the confines of her mind, but it was comforting.

"I'll never use what's yours." Rogue whispered her fingers lacing with Carol's. "But I want, I want to live. I'm sorry, I never meant to hurt you." The tears were flowing again, but Carol wasn't resisting, not like before. She pulled for only a moment before nodding, reluctant even in that action.

"I won't be silenced."

"I don't expect you to." Rogue whispered and pulled away her fingers letting Carol go. In the release the landscape spun.

The crazy twisted rock walls and rolling sky disappeared. The landscape molded into the other, her creation her home and Carol faded away locked in her own place. And suddenly she felt like she could wake up and she opened her eyes.

The Professor was sitting by her bed, smiling. She reached for him ignoring the fact that her hands were bare and pulled him into a hug. He wasn't the same man in her mind, not physically, but inside he had never changed. Her fingers wrapped in the fabric of his shirt and she bit her lips as his hands touched over her back.

"Thank you, thank you so much."

"Rogue my dear, you are always welcome, though you did all of it yourself."

**0o0o0o0**

"**Pyro." **

John had known there was someone outside the door long before it opened, long before Bobby stepped into the room. Remy dozing in the corner, eyes shut, they flew open when Bobby walked in.

The mention of his name didn't warrant a response, at least not a verbal one. He raised a brow. The bandage tape stuck to the other brow forcing it down when it inclined the other. It pulled on the hair on his forehead and he suppressed the wince that resulted from his calculated nonchalance.

"I need to talk to you."

Right another lecture on trust. Just what he needed, how it was all his fault, how he was an idiot and it was his fault that Rogue was still out. He'd done enough talking for one day. He would pass on that, but then again, refusing would force him to speak. He got up, despite his promise not to and walked out the door.

Bobby leaned against the wall, calm, or at least calmer than John had seen him since he came asking for help. "They sent me to talk to you."

"Who?" John asked verging on laughter, who would want to talk to him.

Bobby sighed, slicked hair falling out of place as he bounced against the wall, breaking the defensive posture of his clasped arms. "I'm not going to lie," he rolled his eyes and met John's for the first time. "I'm supposed to say that we voted on it, came to a decision, but really it was the Professor, and Logan always votes the way the Professor does, so it's two to like five."

"What the hell are you talking about?" John spat, annoyed that he was being discussed at all.

"They want you to consider staying here."

John couldn't help it. He laughed, a snort that ended in a gruff laugh, but a true laugh. He had to force it back for appearance's sake. "Are you all crazy." What had the Professor gotten from their conversation that made him think that he would want to stay. Had he not told him how much he didn't need him, or the X-Men for that matter.

Bobby didn't find it nearly as funny, "I think they are."

"So obviously they sent you, because you what, lost that vote too?"

"I was done with you when you left the first time." Bobby spat. "I want you out of here. You're a liability I don't think we should take."

"Ah, so we're back to that." John was silent for a moment. Even if he didn't want to stay it still hurt a little for the feeling to be so mutual and that was another reason for him to be pissed off. He shouldn't care and most of him didn't, but there was that small part.

"The first time you came back..."

John's good humor was washed away immediately. He didn't want to talk about that. Hadn't even thought about that in years. Bobby was the only one that knew and for him that was one too many.

"Shut it," John warned.

Bobby ignored him, "I was pissed at you, probably made the wrong decision."

John clenched his jaw wishing for his lighter. Bobby had no right to bring it up, because it had been a time when John had been as his most low. He was hankering for revenge, desperate for refuge and had only one place to go, with Magneto 'cured' and the Brotherhood disbanded.

"If it'll ease your self righteous soul, I was going to torch the place after dinner." John added grinning viciously. "I guess you made the right decision."

Bobby cocked his head to the side, an all knowing sort of stare that used to drive John up the wall crossed his face. "You were sincere. I should have asked, told the others that you came..."

"So I could get you all together, kill you all in your sleep, that's what your sympathy would have gotten you. I'd rather die than be stuck in these walls again! Listening to your simpering wines, those vomit worthy looks you sent Rogue, like you were Romeo and Juliet, your mislead definition of justice, your cowards way for fighting for what's right! Afraid to take a stand, afraid to let some die, even when they deserved it!"

"I knew this was a mistake, you fucking asshole, I should just..." Bobby was shaking.

"Kill me here, like to see you try. Still too scared, you pussy." John was angry, defensive and out of control. Fuck the plan, the low profile shit, he was sick of this.

Bobby swung first, iced fist rushing past his face by inches. John got him in the kidney. Bobby buckled for only a moment before swinging again. The hit met John's temple making him see stars. Despite the blackness threatening, he barreled forward. He was going to tear Bobby limb from limb.

His momentum was stopped, arms around his arms, pulling him backward. He cursed his teeth gnashing angrily, like a dog sick for the kill. He didn't have to look to know who was holding him back.

"Let go LeBeau, I'm going to kill him this time."

Bobby was wiping his mouth, blood on a split lip. Hank was holding one of his arms. "You're dead Allerdyce. That was your last chance. I'm going to make sure you're thrown in prison, the both of you." He stalked down the hall,shrugging off Hanks hold, and dismissing the man's words.

"Dat was necessary?" Remy asked.

"Shut up." John answered.

Remy slid next to him, whispering in his ear. "Couldn't have played along none? Dere no way you could make dat conversation inta, somet'ing we could use ta get outta of here easier, a little trust, dat not worth une petite shot at your pride."

Remy walked out of the hall and into the room before John could answer. He could kill Remy too, the bastard, but there was something else stirring inside him. He wasn't angry about Bobby, not the Bobby just now, but the Bobby three years ago. The arrogant bastard that had turned him away when he'd most needed help. Humbled, humiliated, he nearly begged for the chance to come back, but that wasn't him, not anymore. He was better, better, he was sure, than that.

Hank grabbed his shoulder, pushing him through the doorway, and for the first time, since they had first arrived, they were locked in. Remy was fuming in the corner, John sank onto his bed. He didn't have to ask but he knew escape had just gotten a lot harder.

**Ah the end of another chapter and so much closer to the end. I'm excited. I love finishing a fic.** **Also I'd like to thank those that reviewed this chappy Ratdogtwo, lovestoread, and gaea3 thank you so much. I love hearing what you guys think. ****Anyway here is another sneak peak of the next chapter**

_**From Chapter 18**_

**She froze** seconds later and pushed herself flat on the floor as Hank opened the door and peered into the room. Light flooded the room pushing the darkness away and making Rogue all too aware of her vulnerability. Darkness was the only thing keeping her hidden. She held her breath willing him to miss her, to not smell her or hear her. She couldn't see Remy the bed too high but she was sure he was faking sleep, just like he had done to her and she was sure he was fooling Hank as well, or she hoped he was.

Moments, that seemed like hours, later the door shut and there was nothing but darkness. Rogue relaxed until she remembered him. He had caught her trying to touch him, had probably seen her touching John. She swallowed.

"Dere a reason you're tryin' to put me in a coma, or dat just your way of saying 'I like you?'" Remy vaulted over the side of the bed, land lightly and silently like a cat, crouched on the balls of his feet. The small light from the door was backing him, casting him in further shadow and she couldn't make out his face to gage his reaction.

"Ah was tryin' to help ya," she breathed and forced herself onto her feet, crouched low like he was, but less vulnerable than her sprawled position on the floor.

"By knocking me unconscious? Dat seem a little backward."

Rogue bristled, not sure if he was teasing or not. "Comin' from the man that kidnaps and steals but sometimes fights on the good side."

He was silent for a moment, "Touche', cherie, but dat still don't tell me what you're doin' here?"


	18. A World I Never Made

**Disclaimer: I don't own a thing**

**Title: Born for Bad Luck**

**By: Peanutbutter**

"_Boys I'm most done travellin', Lord I'm at my journey's end_

_B'lieve I'm most done travellin', Lord at my journey's end_

_Well I been lookin' for me a good partner, bad luck is my best friend..."_

**(**_**Born for Bad Luck**_** song by Brownie McGhee)**

**Chapter 18: A World I Never ****Made**

"_...I'm a stranger and afraid  
I'm a stranger and afraid  
I'm a stranger and afraid  
In a world I never made_

I'm always chasing dragons  
With a sword that's made of tin  
So I know in my soul  
There's no way I can win  
I tried, oh I tried  
But there's no place, no place to go  
There's no one here who knows me  
And no one here I know..."

**_(A World I Never Made_ by Doc Pomus/ Mac Rebennac )**

**0o0o0**

**She didn't** know she was going to do it, not really. She'd packed her bags the night before sure she was going to leave, but to where she still didn't know. It was too much to deal with, the silence, the sudden screams of Carol. She couldn't control her own powers let alone the powers of another, but swimming in it all was a voice she couldn't rid herself of. Remy was stuck, sometimes even annoyingly, to her subconscious.

He was a thief, an escape artist; his own Houdini and he'd let himself out. He'd picked the locks on her mind. He was always there, like Logan sitting listening and filling her nose with scents she had never found delightful until she'd touched him. Cigarettes, still repulsive sent a stir of desire through her, for tobacco, and the smell of bourbon did the same. Though when Logan had filled her mind she had tried a few of those things to the heaving sick realization that even though she craved the smells she hated the taste.

Then there were other things she couldn't explain. At least not with a little voice to accompany the feeling. She had a taste for peaches, savoring their smell and fuzzy skins, when she had always hated them. Her zeal for gossip, never very pronounced pushed her to listen when Jubilee was rambling, and she had the urge to write. She suddenly could hear music and one day she sat at the piano in the common room and the music had flowed into her fingers wrenching from her a sorrowful song, her fingers, aching with the effort flying across the keys. And without her realization her eyes shifting from green to blue.

When it was over, like a wave reseeding and pulling loose sand with it, she'd blinked her head collapsing into her gloved fingers and she sobbed. She had never played in her life, never felt music the way she just had and the following ache of guilt was enough to send her into hysterics. She didn't know how long she sat there, red eyed and dripping tears, arms wrapped around her chest, clutching herself convulsively, but she would have sat there all night if Logan hadn't walked in.

He probably heard her sniffles, smelled her tears, and it hurt even more that she knew what that was like.

"Stripes?"

Rogue jumped even though she knew he was there. Her fingers dug into the green of her sweater uncomfortable heat rushing her face and arms while her hands remained ice cold.

Her voice was a strained whisper. "Yeah."

"You alright Stripes?"

She wanted to tell him she was, but her mind wasn't working and the tears threatened again. She was so busy trying to answer that she didn't feel him until he was sitting beside her arm around her shoulders holding her to his chest. She was reminded of a train ride not so long ago. She fell onto his chest throat clogged, but she was comforted by his scent, those stupid cigars, the wild smell that was always with him. His hand brushed her hair, tips barely coasting the edge of her face. She tensed and he pulled the hand back to the top of her head.

"What's wrong Rogue?"

His gruff voice was enough to loosen the knot in the throat. She wanted to tell him everything. "Ah, Ah don' play the piano." She whispered.

"I don't," he started, but she wasn't done and if he kept talking she wouldn't finish.

"Ah can, Ah can now, Ah don' know how though. My momma tried ta, she tried to teach me, but Ah..." she trailed off lamely. Shaking her head against him. "Ah don' play the piano."

He stayed with her for a long time holding her, strong where she was weak and she was homesick with his comfort. In those little moments, when she realized just who it was that loved the things she'd never understood, she was choked with guilt. Even though Carol had told her she wasn't she felt like a killer and worse than that she felt like a thief.

It wasn't just the piano that didn't belong to her it was her own appetite.

She'd just eaten an entire basket of peaches and the juice rich and ripe dripped from her fingers tips and her tongue was sweet with the juices. The fruit's skin scrubbing pleasantly across her mouth. She hated peaches always had. Trembling she'd realized what had happened. She stared at the pits, bits of fruit flesh still sticking to their pitted and red sides. Her stomach heaved, and she rushed for the bathroom.

The smell rushed over her like a sick cloud. She had had the stomach flu when she was nine and she found out after eating a big ripe peach, later that night it came back up, scrubbing her throat, burning her nostrils with soured juice. She hadn't eaten a peach since then. She knew it wasn't the peach that made her sick, but the smell, the smell had always made her stomach turn.

She barely made it to the bathroom before it was coming up, chunks of peach colored fruit and half chewed skin rushing past her tongue and out her mouth. Her throat burned with bile and her eyes watered. She coughed wondered how she had even done it, but she knew. She knew.

Thief, she screamed at herself, 'Thief', 'Vampire, soul sucking monster', but it wasn't only her voice screaming. It was him, the crazy man who'd scrambled her mind. She clutched her hair pulling lightly and clamping her fingers, still sticky with peach, over her ears.

"You're no t'ief."

The chuckle reached her ears and she jumped, hands falling from her ears. It startled her more than the screams, but there was one thing about the voice it pushed her away from the blackness. It was only then she was able to realize it wasn't him after all, only her own voice and Scrambler was still locked away, but Remy was free.

"Wha..." she started, but her stomach wasn't done rebelling and the peaches came up again, her stomach seizing in a horrible cramp.

"You're no t'ief," the voice repeated when the retching was done her hand on the small silver knob.

"Too clumsy," it pronounced. "Too slow..."

"Ah'm not clumsy," she called aloud. Her head was swimming and her stomach rolling. Her flushed cheeks begged for something cool. She barely knew what she was saying. The colors on the bathroom walls were swirling.

"An' loud," it added chuckling softly.

"Ah locked you up," she whispered. "You're not real." She blinked and the world shifted back to normal and even though the smell of peach was still rushing over her, it wasn't as nauseating.

Absently she leaned against the bathroom cabinets one hand on the porcelain toilet her fingers hooked on the silver handle the other splayed on the floor the cool tile soothing her burning skin, the smell of soured peaches threatening her.

"I'm real," he whispered, "Dat true 'nough, and dere not a lock Remy can't pick, cheré. Dat the mark of a real t'ief."

"If Ah'm not a thief," she whispered afraid to say the rest aloud, but her mind finished the sentence even as she willed it not to. "_...then Ah'm a killer." _

"I know dat's not true eit'er," his voice was slow, soothing like silk across her troubled mind. "Remy know all 'bout dat too. You're no killer."

Even if it wasn't real it was good to hear it. She grabbed hold of his soothing words willing them to stick. After a while her stomach stopped protesting and she got shakily to her feet. Her words were hardly loud enough to get past her own ears but they really didn't have that far to go.

"Thank you."

He was silent and Rogue was sure it had all been an hallucination until the quiet whisper reached her ears and she smiled lopsided and worried. It said 'your welcome' in a heavily accented Cajun.

She didn't tell Kitty what had made her sick, or why there were eight peach pits on the table, eight missing peaches, peaches that had belonged to Jubilee. She was pissed. Rogue wanted to laugh because she was blaming everyone, everyone but Rogue. She knew Rogue hated them.

It was two days later that she slipped again. It was then that she made a decision.

Rogue wascovered in sweat. Her uniform stuck to her chest and her hair, dripping, stuck to her forehead and the bits of fine hair that refused to stay up were clinging to her neck. She had tried to keep it tied back but with all the jumping and running she was doing it was impossible. Her muscles were shaking and she crouched closing her eyes against the chaos for a moment as she tried to regain her bearings.

"I told you it was too soon, Rogue get ready to end simulation. You're wiped."

Rogue narrowed her eyes, sure the voice, Bobby Drake, could see her.

"Stuff it," she said and stood back up, the ground under her feet rumbling as another explosion racked the room. "Ah'm fine. Ah just need to get inta the swing of thangs, alright, lay off."

She thought about switching the intercom off, but it would only prompt Bobby to switch the simulation off and it wasn't even at the maximum danger level. She should have been able to handle the simulation in her sleep. He didn't respond and the room, the devastation, didn't fade away so she took a moment to contact her team.

"Colossus, this is Rogue Ah'm in position."

"Target is approaching your position, are you prepared to engage?"

Rogue rolled her neck and pushed a few stray hairs behind her ear, "Yeah, Ah'm ready."

"Right target in range in three, two..."

The rest of the countdown was interrupted by another rumble the building shook and before she could think about leaping to the next she lost her balance and fell to her knees.

"Rogue, get down, Rogue!"

Somebody, everybody was yelling at her, but she didn't even know what was happening not until the stable floor she had been kneeling one gave away and she was falling. She shut her eyes. It was going to hurt, she was so high up and even in the danger room you could be hurt.

"End simulation!"

The screech reached her ears and she heard the battle sounds disappear. Maybe, just maybe she wouldn't break anything. She felt like she had been falling forever, but she was too panicked to think much. All it meant was that she was going to hit harder than she'd thought.

"Rogue?"

The way her name was spoken made her open her eyes. Her face hurt with how hard she had been holding them shut, afraid that it was the end, that the fall was going to be bad. She didn't hit the ground, and she wasn't falling.

Her arms flailed for a moment before dropping to her sides. She willed herself to fall, but stayed afloat anyway. Control, control was something she was never able to obtain. It didn't seem to matter which power it was.

She wasn't falling, in fact she was floating.

She was floating, she was flying? No! Her mind screamed and suddenly she was falling. It was too loud. Carol was screaming. Rogue covered her ears trying to block the sound. Someone caught her, jarring her with the impact. She wanted to tell them to put her down, but Carol was still screaming.

Hands brushed over her face, flesh colored blurs that faded just as fast as they appeared. She struggled her body flexing defensively as she tried to get away from the strong arms holding her down. Carol was panicking, she didn't like the flying. Rogue had promised she wouldn't use her powers, and she hadn't even tried to. It was an accident.

Thief, her mind screamed when it was over and even Remy couldn't calm the roar that rushed over her. A thief she was and a killer she felt like. Disturbed by her cravings her voices and her unwelcome powers she decided to leave, but she hadn't known where or when until she found out the X-men were voting whether or not to turn Remy and John over to the police.

"Why didn't ya tell meh?" Rogue yelled unsure just why it was Bobby that was getting the brunt of her frustration, but all the same she was pretty sure he was the reason she wasn't included in the vote.

"What does it matter Rogue, we all know how you would have voted and it's not like we were dead locked." Bobby turned back to the papers stacked in front of him and started marking them with red. He was grading papers in between deciding someones fate.

"Ya don' know!" she cried the words exploding from her mouth before she could stop them.

"You want them here?" He asked finally looking up from his papers the pen flat on the stack.

"Ah jus'," she started and turned away from his ice blue eyes, "Ah just want ta be part of it. Ah was there. Ah know what happened. Ah should get a say."

"Rogue," Bobby paused and turned away from her his eyes darting to the ceiling. He was avoiding something. "You're not, you're under a lot of stress lately. With Carol, and the kidnapping, and Essex, we just thought you'd be better off out of this one."

"You," She snorted, "you mean _you_ thought I would be better off. Ah can take care of myself."

She had, after all, taken care of herself, after her family turned her away, after Cody. Terrified and alone she'd been alright, mostly. She didn't need Bobby Drake looking in on her, not about this, not when it meant leaving her out. She was excluded enough when her powers were only helpful if another fell, or she was lucky enough to get one touch in. It never happened that way. It was too difficult to guard for a direct attack and distractions never worked, at least not without leaving bruises. She had been kicked out of the action she wasn't going to be kicked out of the meetings too, and Bobby, protecting her or not, had just given her a very dangerous idea.

It wasn't hard to get into the medical bay. Hank was still up hunched over his computer a cup of coffee on the counter, but her was too engrossed to see her pass by. She had the security codes already, most full members were given the codes for emergencies it was just a matter of punching them in and hoping the two were asleep.

They should be. Remy was badly hurt in the Morlock fight, or so she'd been told, and John with deep scratches across his face. The both were on sedatives to help them sleep and a mild dose of painkillers.

Either way she looked through the door the tiny window in front giving her a view of each bed and of both mutants sound asleep. She punched in the code still afraid Hank had seen her and would walk around the corner at any moment. The bright key pad glowed green and Rogue pushed the door open and stepped into the room.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim light. While the hall had been lite by the steady glow of emergency red lights the room was dark, the light from the window doing little for the corners of the small room and the left half of Remy's bed. John was bathed in most of the light but he was sound asleep snoring slightly with his arm thrown behind his head. His face was unbandaged, red slashes of raised skin promised a eternal reminder of his battle. He was lucky he still had use of his eye.

It was strange to look at him again. The last time she'd seen him seemed like a life time ago but it had barely been a week. He rolled, moaning in his sleep, and Rogue felt her body freeze afraid that he would wake. The dread rushed over her cold and hot all at the same time. Her cheeks flushed in expected embarrassment, but it was for nothing. He rolled onto the soured part of his face the dark brown hair falling over his good eye and tucked the free arm under his chin. It was how he'd always slept.

The nostalgia was unexpected and not entirely welcome. John had once been her friend, had once... The image of the three of them, John, her, and Bobby shot through her mind like a freight train and she stepped back in a quick jerk like she'd been struck by it. The entire time she'd been kidnapped, afraid, and even as she'd told Remy she wasn't afraid of him she had been, because that wasn't the John she'd known, but him sleeping hand curled under his chin, moaning, mumbling in his sleep... She wanted to reach for him. He had once been her friend, and somewhere tucked under all his posturing was a good man, she was sure of it. She just had to make everyone else see it.

She was at his side before she knew it her hands no longer sweating and her lips thinned into a determined line. She reached for him, the exposed portion of his cheek. Her naked fingers caressing his cheek in a brief touch. Her skin sang with the contact, electricity momentary, but strong, rushed over her. She staggered back her foot bumping the wall and she gasped as the images invaded her mind.

They were rushed, so many snippets of information, confusing, swirling. She opened her mouth in a silent scream while the images rushed over her and almost without thought she started to sort them. The bad in one the good in the other, but mostly there were the snippets that were neither good or bad. Before long the stream calmed and she was able to put most of them together, but she would do more of that later. She had enough for what she wanted to do the rest, the rest was just...

She shook her head, no longer worried about John he would be out cold for a long time, but she still had one more thing to do. There was Remy.

She looked over John's bed to Remy's side of the room. It was strange to look at him, when for weeks he had been talking to her. She remembered the peaches, the flying incident in the danger room, every time he had been there, but he hadn't not the real him, just a shadow, a shadow that could pick locks.

She felt like she knew him, she had never talked to him, not in a real conversation. She had played cards with him one time, but afterward, the small amount of trust she had had in him was shattered. He tried to kill Logan, and John had helped.

She shook her head, no, John had been scared, realistic, he had know it wouldn't kill him. He had just wanted to stop him, but she didn't feel any better about that. There wasn't time to think about that. She had a mission. Quietly she crept across the floor eyes focused on his face. He was immobile chest rising and falling slowly, still asleep. She stopped by his head hand raised for a moment as she tried to catch his features, but it was too dark and Remy's face was lost in the blur.

She shook off the urge to see him, really see him, because the image of him in her mind was vague, not blurry but transparent. He wafted instead of remaining solid, but his voice, his voice had never been anything but solid. Her fingers slid toward his face.

She didn't notice him moving, or even that his eyes had opened until it was too late. He grabbed her wrist squeezing over the fabric covering it. His eyes, gleaming in the darkness, pinned her to the spot and for a moment she was unable to struggle. That moment was all Remy needed and the next second he had his sheet wrapped around his hand and clamped over her mouth stopping any sound from escaping.

He flipped her across his body dragging her into the darkness and onto the other side of his bed his hand still clamped over her mouth. She hit the ground lightly despite the force of his fling. He leaned toward her face still in shadow eyes bright beacons of red.

"Hanks on 'is way."

Rogue stiffened under his hand. She didn't want to be caught.

"Jus' stay dere and all is well, chere." He whispered his breath brushing the tip of her ear and sending the hair there blowing back. When he pulled back his hand left her face and Rogue rubbed her ear willing the involuntary tingle his breath had cause away.

She froze seconds later and pushed herself flat on the floor as Hank opened the door and peered into the room. Light flooded the room pushing the darkness away and making Rogue all too aware of her vulnerability. Darkness was the only thing keeping her hidden. She held her breath willing him to miss her, to not smell her or hear her. She couldn't see Remy the bed too high but she was sure he was faking sleep, just like he had done to her and she was sure he was fooling Hank as well, or she hoped he was.

Moments, that seemed like hours, later the door shut and there was nothing but darkness. Rogue relaxed until she remembered him. He had caught her trying to touch him, had probably seen her touching John. She swallowed.

"Dere a reason you're tryin' to put me in a coma, or dat just your way of saying 'I like you?'" Remy vaulted over the side of the bed, land lightly and silently like a cat, crouched on the balls of his feet. The small light from the door was backing him, casting him in further shadow and she couldn't make out his face to gage his reaction.

"Ah was tryin' to help ya," she breathed and forced herself onto her feet, crouched low like he was, but less vulnerable than her sprawled position on the floor.

"By knocking me unconscious? Dat seem a little backward."

Rogue bristled, not sure if he was teasing or not. "Comin' from the man that kidnaps and steals but sometimes fights on the good side."

He was silent for a moment, "Touche', cherie, but dat still don't tell me what you're doin' here?"

"Ah'm tryin' to see what your plans are," she paused, "for later, after the X-men."

There was definite humor in his voice when he answered. "An' askin' jus' lost it's flare?"

"John never would have answered and you," she paused anger simmering on the surface, "You just would have lied. Ah needed the truth."

"Ya jus' can' wait ta touch Remy again, non, de first time jus' wasn't enough."

Rogue shook her head, suddenly regretting her idea, the entire plan had been stupid. "You're delusional."

"Who was in who's bed in de middle of the night? Who trying to touch who?"

Rogue snorted arms crossed over her chest. "You're ego," she breathed, "ya know it's the only reason you guys lost hold of me. Ya under estimated me and overestimated yourselves."

"It was John dat lost hold of you. I always knew ta watch out."

He shifted the side of his face suddenly visible. Smooth skin, strong straight jaw, and dark eyes dotted with bright red that were no more expressive than the rest of his face. He was bantering, jabbing, teasing, but something told her it was just a put on. He was thinking about something else and bantering with her was the way to keep it from getting out. He turned back to her, back into the dark, expect for those bright eyes, and Rogue figured it was time to get back to business. She had a plan a good one, and it would just have to change a little.

"They had a vote, about what ta do with the two of ya." Rogue waited for him to say something but he remained silent. "They're not going ta let ya go. They don't trust ya, and for good reason Ah guess, but Ah wanted to make sure, Ah mean ya did save meh, later, Ah didn't want them to make the wrong decision."

"De professor, he asked John ta stay, pissed him off something good, and Bobby, Bobby came ta tell him. Dere bad blood dere, between them, John never talked 'bout de iceboy, but he still has a lot to say to him, and none of it good."

"Ah heard they got in a fight."

"Would have been worse if not for de Beast, and if I hadn't been watchin'. He said some stuff he didn' mean, or did at the moment, doesn' matter I image dat what swayed de vote."

"That's why Ah came down here. Ah wanted to see for myself, to tell them to let you go." Rogue wished she could see his face, just to guess what he was thinking. As if reading her mind he shifted back leaning against the bed his legs stretching in front of him. She barely glimpsed the wince that settled across his face at the movement.

"Can' sit like dat too long, de leg'is not so good."

Rogue was silent as he bent his leg at the knee before stretching it back out.

"You so sure I'm a good guy?"

How could she tell him about the shadow in her head that vaguely looked like him but had his voice, strong and real that pulled her away from darkness, the sorrow, she just knew that voice couldn't be bad, not when it had brought her so much comfort. She shrugged instead.

"Ah just got this feeling."

"Don't deserve your trust." His voice was thick something more than his bravado lacing it.

"Yah don't have it yet, swamp rat," she whispered back trying to lighten the harsh tones of his voice. "Ah ain't looked in that cobwebbed head."

He turned toward her the light from the door brightening the edge of his mouth where his lips quirked into a half smile his brow raising slightly. "Well, cherie, cop a feel anytime ya want." he winked shamelessly and Rogue rolled her eyes. "Just let a fella get back on to somet'ing more comfortable dan de floor."

Rogue followed him up, feeling awkward as he lowered himself onto the bed closed his eyes.

"Dis might give me a good night sleep, non."

Rogue was silent as he shifted a little stretching his leg again. Somehow touching him, like this, with his consent, was a little more intimate than she wanted. It wasn't sexual, just close, too close for her. Her fingers hovered over his brow, shaking slightly and she was glad his eyes were closed. Right before her fingers brushed his skin he spoke.

"Chere, Rogue, I'm sorry for what happened."

Her fingers touched his forehead cutting off any chance for a response. He didn't jerk but his breathing changed instantly and Rogue's head was filled with more of Remy LeBeau. The image of him reappeared, sharper than before and the grin on his face was the one she'd seen just moments ago. She ignored him for the moment focusing on the input, but it was easy to sort, Remy had been thinking about the information she wanted and some of it surprised her.

Satisfied that her mission was complete she took one last fleeting look at Remy LeBeau and St. John Allerdyce and went back to bed.

Her mind had been made up then. She knew exactly what she was going to do and even though it worried her she slept better than she had in months.

**0o0o0**

**I don't know why but this is my favorite chapter. As always thank you so much for the reviews! **

**Hawaiichick: **Thanks! I tried really hard to make the Remy/John friendship believable and there just might me a little Romy coming up...

**Pyrowhore: **Thank you!

**tfobmy18: **Bobby can be a bit of an ass, but he has his reasons. Bobby, in this story, is the king of seeing in black and white. Thanks for the review.

**Ghostwriter: **Thank you!

**lovestoread: **I'm so glad you keep reading. Glad you liked the mindscape stuff I kinda made most of it up and was wondering whether or not it worked. Thanks for the review.

**gaea3:** Yeah I'm going to be putting out a new chapter every Friday. The story is done except for some minor revisions on the last few chapters. Thanks for reading and reviewing!

**Ratdogtwo: **Thank you!

**Wanda W:** I'm glad you're enjoying the story and I loved the fight between John and Bobby. The funny thing was I started to write that part as them making up, or coming to an understanding, but you know John just wouldn't shut up and Bobby just couldn't let go. I love when the characters tell me what needs to be written. Thanks for reading and reviewing!

**0o0o0**

_From Chapter 19_

**He woke** with her face swimming in front of him, like she had just touched him moments ago. His skin still tingled, and his head ached dully as he forced his eyes open. He almost spoke her name, involuntary, a question of what she felt, what she had seen, a hope that her eyes hadn't seen further than he wanted, but he realized, just short of her name forming on his tongue, that it was a dream fading just behind his eyes. She had left, a while ago, sending him into the heavy sleep her touch induced. There was an ache in his muscles that sung more of the energy she'd pulled from him than the bullet wound or scratches he'd received.

He had hoped her fingers would purge his mind of thought and allow him to sleep dream free. The morlock girl, his past, Rogue, they all swelled on him in the dead of the night, consuming, taking, and blaming him until he sat against the wall afraid to close his eyes. His skin would weep, pooling and cooling, sweat born of fear spinning through his body like a coil of terror that left his skin clammy. He hadn't expected her touch to change much, but, perhaps, to force him to endure the voices and the blame, and at the best leave him in blissful black silence. He didn't remember if he dreamed just her face and a voice, but the terror was absent, the guilt, for the moment, gone. The absence of feeling wouldn't last, but for the time being he could reveal in an achy peace of mind. Even if he never escaped the X-Men, or whatever else they had in store for him at least he had that, one dreamless empty night.

"You slept through breakfast."

Remy rolled to his side, still too spent to force himself to sit. His eyes blurred for a second as he tried focused on John. John's back was pressed into the mattress his feet propped on the head board. His fingers were closed over a small rubber ball. He tossed it up, caught it in his right hand, tossed it again, caught it in his left, tossed it lazily toward the wall. 'Thunk', it bounced off the wall and back into his left hand.

"I nearly grabbed your arm and rolled you out of bed." He spoke again, squeezing the ball like one of those pliable stress relievers.

"Afraid of de reflexes?" Remy joked and pulled himself up, his hand still pressed over the ache just over his eyes.

'Thunk'. The ball landed in his hand again. He paused squeezed the rubber and tossed it up. He caught it easily. "Just realized it was the first time I'd seen you sleep since we'd gotten here, thought you could use it."

Remy frowned, introspective John was as bad as silent John. Perhaps Rogue's touch had scrambled his brain. He ignored the concern. "You tryin' to make up for' de other day, or is dere somet'ing gross in dat bacon sandwich."

John snorted and looked at the half eaten breakfast tray and raised a brow, "Eat at your own risk." He barked a short laugh and cursed as the ball bounced off the wall and careened toward the door. John turned his head to watch its bouncing descent as it settled under Remy's bed. He made no move to pick it up.

"This is one of those times I wish I'd gotten telekinesis instead of the fire thing," He watched the ball roll further from him, disappearing into the gloom under Remy's bed. His eyes remained locked on the floor. "Wouldn't matter anyway. They turned on the dampeners." His voice was laced with nonchalance, but his refusal to look any where else but the floor was give away enough. John was brimming somewhere between despair and boiling rage.


	19. Things Got To Get Better

**Disclaimer: I don't own a thing**

**Title: Born for Bad Luck**

**By: Peanutbutter**

"_Boys I'm most done travellin', Lord I'm at my journey's end_

_B'lieve I'm most done travellin', Lord at my journey's end_

_Well I been lookin' for me a good partner, bad luck is my best friend..."_

**(_Born for Bad Luck_ song by Brownie McGhee)**

**Chapter 19: Things Got To Get Better**

"Well I thought I hit the big time, but I hit the bottom first

Well I thought I hit the big time, but I hit the bottom first

Well you know things has got to get better, it can't get no worse..."

(_Things Got to Get Better _by Neal & Greenlee)

**0o0o0o0**

**He woke** with her face swimming in front of him, like she had just touched him moments ago. His skin still tingled, and his head ached dully as he forced his eyes open. He almost spoke her name, involuntary, a question of what she felt, what she had seen, a hope that her eyes hadn't seen further than he wanted, but he realized, just short of her name forming on his tongue, that it was a dream fading just behind his eyes. She had left, a while ago, sending him into the heavy sleep her touch induced. There was an ache in his muscles that sung more of the energy she'd pulled from him than the bullet wound or scratches he'd received.

He had hoped her fingers would purge his mind of thought and allow him to sleep dream free. The morlock girl, his past, Rogue, they all swelled on him in the dead of the night, consuming, taking, and blaming him until he sat against the wall afraid to close his eyes. His skin would weep, pooling and cooling, sweat born of fear spinning through his body like a coil of terror that left his skin clammy. He hadn't expected her touch to change much, but, perhaps, to force him to endure the voices and the blame, and at the best leave him in blissful black silence. He didn't remember if he dreamed just her face and a voice, but the terror was absent, the guilt, for the moment, gone. The absence of feeling wouldn't last, but for the time being he could reveal in an achy peace of mind. Even if he never escaped the X-Men, or whatever else they had in store for him at least he had that, one dreamless empty night.

"You slept through breakfast."

Remy rolled to his side, still too spent to force himself to sit. His eyes blurred for a second as he tried focused on John. John's back was pressed into the mattress his feet propped on the head board. His fingers were closed over a small rubber ball. He tossed it up, caught it in his right hand, tossed it again, caught it in his left, tossed it lazily toward the wall. 'Thunk', it bounced off the wall and back into his left hand.

"I nearly grabbed your arm and rolled you out of bed." He spoke again, squeezing the ball like one of those pliable stress relievers.

"Afraid of de reflexes?" Remy joked and pulled himself up, his hand still pressed over the ache just over his eyes.

'Thunk'. The ball landed in his hand again. He paused squeezed the rubber and tossed it up. He caught it easily. "Just realized it was the first time I'd seen you sleep since we'd gotten here, thought you could use it."

Remy frowned, introspective John was as bad as silent John. Perhaps Rogue's touch had scrambled his brain. He ignored the concern. "You tryin' to make up for' de other day, or is dere somet'ing gross in dat bacon sandwich."

John snorted and looked at the half eaten breakfast tray and raised a brow, "Eat at your own risk." He barked a short laugh and cursed as the ball bounced off the wall and careened toward the door. John turned his head to watch its bouncing descent as it settled under Remy's bed. He made no move to pick it up.

"This is one of those times I wish I'd gotten telekinesis instead of the fire thing," He watched the ball roll further from him, disappearing into the gloom under Remy's bed. His eyes remained locked on the floor. "Wouldn't matter anyway. They turned on the dampeners." His voice was laced with non nonchalance, but his refusal to look any where else but the floor was give away enough. John was brimming somewhere between despair and boiling rage.

Remy reached for the tray. The food was cold and the juice room temperature, but he was starving. He dug in gobbling the sandwich in three bites barely tasting the mayonnaise smeared on each piece or the egg and cheese combined between the slices of bacon. He mulled the absence of his powers over in his head. That was another reason he felt like crap. Absently he tried to charge the fork on his tray and to his dismay found it impossible. It was another reason for his grogginess. He'd felt the same empty block when he was imprisoned at Essex's laboratory. His fingers itched for the familiar warmth and he forced his hands onto the glass to occupy them.

"Any chance dat we're goin' out today?" Remy couldn't see John's face, too busy chugging his juice after he spoke. Besides the comment was more sarcasm than actual question. He didn't really expect an answer.

"Not unless you've been digging a secret passage."

Remy finished the juice and laid the empty tray on the bedside table. " Dey left us spoons, get a rock pick and we'll make like shawshank."

John shrugged, "Felt like crap this morning and the damn dampeners just keep reminding me of what I'm in for." His voice hardened for a moment, his jaw clenching, his fists balling at his sides. Remy usually revealed in his ability to predict the actions of those around him. He'd spent year perfecting his ability to read his enemies, and even more accurately his friends but realizing John was a few sentences from cracking wasn't nearly as comforting to know.

John rolled to his side sliding off the bed and landing on his feet. He went in search of the ball. He dropped to his knees and crawled under Remy's bed as far as the low bottom would allow and stretched his fingers, grasping, smacking absently in a blind, angry search.

"Dere still a chance dat dey change dere minds." Remy offered and wondered whether or not he should tell him about Rogue's visit.

"And Bobby Drake will get the icicle out of his ass," John snorted and backed out of from under the bed ball in hand.

"Dat somet'ing I guess isn't goin' ta happen," Remy watched the mutant bounce the newly retrieved ball.

"Unfortunately that's a permanent condition." John added as if he were really hurt by the fact. It would have been believable if it hadn't been for the smirk stretching across his face. John trekked back to the bed and flopped across the mattress. The bed squeaked in protest while he turned onto his back feet against the headboard again. "Drake never did understand fun."

Remy watched John toss the ball his face turned in a permanent sneer. "You were amies, friends, once."

John turned toward Remy. The ball stopped it's 'thunk, thunk' against the wall. "Yeah, and people make stupid mistakes all the time."

"Like joining a murdering league of mutant elitist." Remy answered, smiling inwardly at the look on John's face.

"Or taking a job from a psychopath." John shot back.

Remy smiled, this time it reached his mouth and just a bit of humor in his eyes. "We both guilty of dat."

The ball bounced off the wall and landed with a smack into John's hand. " Or like that giant lugee I spit in your bacon sandwich."

"Dat you gonna pay for." Remy launched himself off the bed. He was sore but still able to move silently. His body barely protested at his silent ascent. His bare feet hit the floor during the rubber balls 'thunk' against the wall, but it wouldn't have mattered. He didn't make a sound.

John continued to look at the wall grinning, his hand wrapped around the ball. He tossed it toward the wall, "Yeah, what are you going to do..."

The 'do' was cut short when Remy landed on John's chest pushing all the air out of his lungs. The ball, already heading back for what had been John's steady waiting hand, somehow bypassed the Cajun attacker and hit John in the forehead. John cursed. Remy wrapped an arm around John's head forcing him into a half nelson.

It was hard to make his arms hold. His leg protested as he braced himself against John's rolling struggle to get free. He felt a grin come across his face. His free hand reached toward the cursing mutants forehead. He tapped it lightly before flicking the center using his thumb and index finger.

"Dis a little bothersome?" He asked, tapping again, harder. "I t'ink I'll stop if you apologize for de spit."

"Let go, Cajun." The flailing stopped, his body quivered, his voice was an alarming level of disgust. "I'll kill you."

So he was back to boiling rage. Remy ignored the threat and went back to the incessant tap, tap. John bucked like a wild cat, cursing, finger nails digging, he even tried to roll away, nearly twisting his own neck off.

Remy grinned despite the screaming ache in his arm, and the breath stealing stab of his lungs punching his side. "Dat a sorry?" He tapped harder.

"I'm gonna killya," he slurred his words running together.

"Nope, I t'ink dat the wrong answer." Remy released his hold grinning at the stunned surprise it left John in. For a split second the fire mutant didn't move a muscle, like he didn't believe he was actually free. Remy shoved. John let out a grunt as he rolled off the bed and hit the floor with a loud thud, legs and arms still too surprised to brace his fall.

Remy tried to keep the grin off his face, after all he was in no shape for a fight. John wasn't any better with the cut bisecting his face, the loss of blood, his two equally dangerous emotions boiling over. Remy was still musing when John leaped across the bed with a battle cry. Remy barely had time to roll away. John's fingers grabbed the tail of his shirt in the pass. He started to turn and pull away, but John yanked. Remy gasped his leg buckling. His friends balled fist hit his side in a glancing, but painful blow.

"Damn!" Remy grunted though he was sure the word didn't come out quite as clear as he would have liked, a mush of letters and sounds betraying his pain. He dropped to his knees, his aching ribs appreciating the curl and tight arms flung across the weak bones. He had only a moment of reprieve, a breath, before he rolled and the ache roared into a flame the rivaled the hit John had delivered. Somehow he got to his feet, black dancing in front of his eyes. He blinked. His breathe hitched, but John didn't disappoint he swam into view between blinking flashes of light and blackness. Luckily he only had to step to his side to avoid John's next attack. His opponent was running on pure rage, his movements though erratic were easier to avoid than a thought out attack.

"Hurt a bit?" John mocked his fingers working furiously at his side, mimicking the ignition of his zippo. Mocking despite the fact that his last attack had failed. Remy, still holding his side, forced his hand down and the grimace away.

John's fingers danced more fanatically against his leg. Remy glanced at the twitching fingers, they reminding him, all to well; of his shaking hands two nights ago and the images that brought those shakes on. He dragged his eyes back to John's face, wide eyed anger, a flush of red heat working it's way up his neck.

"Afraid you can' beat me wit out de fire," Remy taunted, his eyes trained on the twitching fingers

The dance stopped immediately. John curled his hand into a fist, holding back the tremors of habit as he tried to forcing his hands to stop. The red worked it's way to his cheeks, his mouth thinned even further. He looked ready to explode.

"Dat all you are, right," Remy paused as if he expected a nod, " boy wit a match."

"You cocky, son of a bitch," John roared and charged.

Maybe he'd pushed him too far, but Remy needed him angry. The charge wasn't hard to block, not when it was only his rage fueling the fight. Remy wasn't that invested, not yet and he parried every blow barely working a sweat and still managed to keep his ribs from being tapped.

John suddenly backed away eyes narrowing to slits, fists still clenched, he just stared. His breath was forced and the stitches on his face had been stretched, one had popped, blood pooling by his brow. John was getting more pissed and Remy...

"You give up?" Remy barked, unsure of his motivations when moments ago he had been convinced a fight was a great idea; that John needed to work his anger out. The fight was about John for John, but Remy continued to push. He laughed, short and humorless. John twitched, his fists tightened. Remy knew it was a bad idea but suddenly it was better than wondering what was going to happen next, better than John, silent and angry. The adrenaline was spiking making his tired body sing with anticipation. He was, he was...

"Dis the end Pyro?" Remy continued his fingers dancing, eerie imitations of the twitch John couldn't control. He wished for his cards or his powers, something to make them stop. Remy shifted his weight, hands sliding into his pockets, standard _mutant high_ issue denim. "Dis how ya go down?" He pretended not to care. He was letting John make the next move. His mind told him it was stupid, but his body was begging for a fight.

John attacked. His hands were flying legs hitting marks when before he couldn't. He was focused. His goal was to get Remy on the ground and John with a reason was more dangerous than John with a gudge.

Something was roaring between Remy's ears, something more than the fact that John had just boxed him in the temple, his lip split under a well thrown punch and Remy stumbled backward. This time he was the one bleeding. He narrowed his eyes on John still tight mouthed, but there was something more burning behind his fire fueled eyes.

"That all you got, Cajun?" John taunted and shook his head, pushing loose hair out of his eyes and drops of blood flecked the collar of his blue t-shirt.

"Hell no," Remy spat and jumped back into the fray. He was, He was...starting to feel a whole lot better.

**0o0o0o0**

_**Fuck him**__, fuck him, _John screamed and charged back in. _Fuck his damn smiling face, his damn smug attitude, his fucking condescending guilt trips._ Remy on a bad day was nearly impossible to beat, so it was a surprise when his punch landed dead on, and the spray of red was enough to turn up the corners of his mouth, giving his dark mood a momentary lift.

Remy backed away wiping his mouth, but the reprieve was only momentary before he jumped back in swinging his fists like sledge hammer, most landed, but John didn't have to worry about broken ribs. He shook them off anger handling most of the pain, until Remy's punched him in the nose.

"Shit, shit, shit," he cursed hands flying to his nose. He felt warmth rush over his knuckles and knew at once that it was bleeding. Just want he needed to go with the scratches, two damn black eyes.

He lashed out aiming where he knew he would get the maximum amount of damage. His fingers jabbed the joint between two of Remy's taped ribs. The cocky Cajun hissed and fell to his knees, cursing in French as John grinned over his twisted frame.

"Merde, Merde!" Remy had his eyes closed nursing the blow. John smiled. The bastard shouldn't have started the fight in the first place.

"Why don't you stay down there, Cajun," John taunted the effect slightly ruined by the sniff that followed the taunt, and he took his hand off his nose to speak.

Blood was still trickling, and John raised his hand to brush it away, pulling his shirt up to dab at the flow. Not expecting an attack he pressed the cloth against his nose, gingerly he bloated before pulling it away to examine the damage. The blue cotton was soaked. He barely had time to process the damage when he was pitched forward, his arms still too caught in his shirt to effectively break his fall. He hit chest first the air rushing out of his lungs. His chin stuck second clamping his tongue between his teeth. He gasped, trying to force air into his lungs. Remy's arms were still around John's knees. The bastard got in two solid hits before John was able to retaliate.

**0o0o0o0**

**Heels in** the air, hands supporting his weight, his eyes opened and he flipped to his feet. The motion usually so fluid, like water rushing over smooth rocks jerked, jagged edges appeared, the easy flow of movement was gone. His muscles protested every attempt to bend or stretch. He a groaned when his chest tightened and he couldn't make a sound when his air was cut off and he knew he was headed for disaster. The ball of his right foot struck first, a slap of skin on linoleum instead of a soft 'woof' of nearly inaudible landing filled his ears and he cringed. His side erupted in flames that raced down his leg and across his back. He still couldn't scream and for that he was grateful. All he needed was for John to know just how much the movement hurt. His left foot followed, surprisingly he was still straight but there was no use trying to save it, his right leg gave way spilling him onto the floor in a undignified heap of limbs. His leg screamed his arms burned with exertion and he was only granted a soft, 'ah' as he crumbled. Just days ago the movement had been like breathing.

"Trying to kiss your own ass?"

John appeared over him grinning in amusement, something that had been absent from his face since his confrontation with the _Popsicle_ and the Professor. Remy turned away from the smug face, trying to keep his throat from voicing his pain. He wasn't surprised that he held no joy in seeing that stupid grin back, even if a little tension release had been his plan, then again he was a little jaded by the cause of John's amusement being his own misfortune. Grimace sufficiently repressed, Remy sprang to his feet ignoring the jar his leg gave him. He forced himself to breathe when his body, in a odd protest, told him it really wasn't a good idea. Black spots danced in front of his eyes as he stood, ready again, smiling back. He wasn't going to be the last to fall

**0o0o0o0**

**The bed f**ollowed the night table crashing against the door. One of the wooden post on the foot board sprang loose and rolled across the floor. They were both looking at it from prone spots on their asses. John lunged, or tried, it was a half crawl, half shimmy across the slick floor. His leg was caught in the bed sheet, trapping him more effectively than Remy had the entire fight. He flailed for a bit trying to force the fabric loose. He barely moved an inch across the floor before he caught sight of Remy.

He was breathing like an asthmatic, crawling with one hand on his side and the other, nails dug dragging him toward the wood post. His fist closed over the weapon and John took his eyes off his enemy to try and free his legs. It took too long, the sheet wound tighter than it should have been. By time he looked up Remy on his feet spinning the post with a disturbing familiarity. John cursed , Remy lunged.

John rolled away, the first swing, surely a taunt hitting the floor with a loud 'clack'. John's only advantage was that Remy was slowed. His other arm still clutching his rib cage. John pushed himself to his feet, unaware that the scratches on his face were bleeding, nearly every stitched popped. His hand swept across his brow to brush away warm running sweat and came away red. He stared at it a moment, wondering whether he should be in pain, and for a second longer wondering why he wasn't. He leaned to the left avoiding a swing. It was oddly refreshing. Adrenaline dancing in his veins he felt strangely elated. He paused, eyes widening. Rogue had been right he was twisted.

Just as the epiphany rushed over him Remy found his mark, and John repressed the urge to grab his bruised shin. He bit his lip to keep the groan back, and forced himself to his feet.

He still had an advantage over the insane Cajun. He wasn't sporting cracked ribs. He faked a charge. Remy stepped back tensing for the hit when John ran toward the door. The tossed, broken, bed still had the bars of the foot board intact and within reach. Smiling, he brought his leg up and kicked. The crack was loud enough to make him wince but the shock that raced up his leg was worse. The damn bed must have been solid oak.

Remy was laughing, wheezing breaths forced through his blood reddened mouth. He was still spinning the make shift bo staff.

"Dis look bad for you, no?" He asked taunting, grinning.

John knew he was screwed. Clenching his teeth and willing the unpleasant tingle out of his leg he kicked again, this time the wood splintered. Sensing his advantage slipping Remy charged. John kicked one last time the wood snapped free near the top of the head board. Bracing his leg on the bottom, he grabbed the free end and wrenched. There was a crack and with a roar the post was free. John didn't take the time to see where Remy was he spun post raised, blindly hoping to find an opening. Instead of the 'thwag' of wood on flesh there was another 'crack'. John pried his good eye open to see Remy's staff blocked by his own, inches from his head.

"Asshole," John complained and shoved. "That was nearly my head."

Remy shrugged and pushed, "Key word bein' nearly, mon amie."

John didn't expect the pressure to let off so when Remy stepped back he nearly fell on his face. Remy smacked him across the back, a short swift stinging, but not crippling blow. John tried to block, tried to counter, but with his weapon of choice in hand Remy was unstoppable. The blows were light, dulled by extreme control. The muted effort just pissed John off.

He swung, baseball style at the Cajun's head. Remy blocked, barely lifting his arm, not at all surprised. John tried to block the counter, missed, Remy jabbed the mutants midsection. John doubled over cursing viciously. Remy took that opportunity to knock the back of John's knees. Still cursing John fell gasping between curses.

"Give up?" Remy asked smug grin already claiming victory.

Despite the jarring fall John had managed to hold onto his stick. Without changing his face he whipped it upward catching Remy's bad leg with a short jab. John pulled the stick back when he felt the leg give. Remy slumped to the right, John forced his post behind Remy's bad leg and pulled. Remy fell. Unfortunately it wasn't away from John's suffering body.

The thief's heel hit John's stomach. John shoved the foot away, gasping for air. He hoped the Cajun was having just as much trouble. There was no sound but their mutual gasping.

"Not on your life," John mumbled answering Remy's earlier question. He was done for. Unable to move, his body aching, he hoped Remy didn't feel up for more.

"Yeah," Remy mumbled words rasping in his throat, "me either."

Neither moved. John breathed. Remy coughed. Each breath stung, his eyes hurt, his head was pounding, but strangely he felt good, alive.

"Asshole," John mumbled muted laughter passing his lips. He thought for a moment he was going insane.

"Idiot," Remy countered and John wasn't sure if the gurgling Remy was producing was laughing or choking.

It was then John heard the banging. He turned his head, and oh damn that hurt, toward the noise not able to move more than that. The bed propped against the door was shaking. He raised a brow, regretted it and smacked Remy's foot. "What the hell?" He gestured toward the door.

"Dey been banging on de door since de bed landed dere," Remy answered, short words forced from spent lungs. Even after stilling he didn't sound any better, if anything he sounded worse. He coughed again, like stuff was moving in the back of his throat.

"Guess dey t'ink we're killin' each other, non." His words were garbled, heavily accented.

John laughed. "Yeah, well I think we were trying."

Remy was silent, "I'm gonna need a little more dan dat to beat Gambit."

John was about to retaliate when the door was shoved open. The Beast was complaining, Wolverine threatening, but he didn't care strangely he felt better, and even though Remy sounded like he was dying, he guessed the Cajun did too.

"What the hell is going on here?"

It was Wolverine and John had the supreme pleasure of grinning at him, though the blood, and the ache. He enjoyed the look of confusion on the man's face. John shook his head unable to answer or even enjoy the dumbfounded look on their faces. If only Remy had had the decency to drop him so he was facing the door, instead of breaking his neck for a view. He touched his swollen lips and snorted when they came away red. Whether it was from his face or a split lip he wasn't sure. He watched the small drip of red flatten against his skin before running down his knuckle.

"Dat," Remy answered before John had a chance to. "Dat is de question, _neh_?

John snorted, a short laugh starting in the back of his throat. His nose protested sending a dribble of red rushing down his lip. He leaned his head back further, pushing his neck upward, still snorting despite the bruising pain and rushing blood. He pinched his nose and cursed.

"Lean forward."

Hank's hand was on his shoulder pushing him into a sitting position then on the crown of his head pushing him gently toward the floor, his head between his knees. He laughed again.

"I suggest you stop sniffing, you're just pulling the blood into your throat."

He snorted again, the red metallic liquid coated his mouth. He swallowed, forcing it down and accepted the rag Hank was holding and put it over his nose. Remy snorted, John couldn't hold it in. The laugh, that had been building in the back of his throat since the anti climatic end to their fight, rolled out and he lost the battle with his nose bleed.

**0o0o0o0**

**"Rogue was** here last night."

They were both slumped against the wall of Hank's exam room number three. The first room held a new recruit getting his physical and a evaluation of his powers. The second empty. Remy and John were waiting.

The laughter though ebbing was still hedging the surface, near bursting, even though bloodied faces and aching ribs. Despite the distraction, the pain, and the sudden wave of exhaustion that had washed over them both John jumped at his words.

Remy smiled, it hurt too much to laugh, his ribs pinching with each breath. He pressed his side relieving the pain for only an instant while he breathed in. He shifted his legs putting more weight on the good one and willing the ache in his calf to fade. He was having a hard time seeing out of his left eye. His lips matched John's in swollen red size, the blackening rings under John's eyes were pretty amusing, worth the busted lip.

He swallowed, and hissed the slight intake of breath due to his momentary amusement. He paused, longer than he would have wanted, sure John hadn't heard him. He tried again. "Rogue, de fille was in de room last night."

"What are you talking about?" John groused, though there wasn't any real ire in his voice. He was holding a rag to his nose and another to his busted stitches trying to staunch the bleeding somewhere. "Damn if I'm not going to bleed to death. Between my busted stitches and nose I should be handing out free meals to vampires." He paused pulling the rag away from his red rimmed nose. "How's it look."

Remy grinned, ignoring the pain, "crooked as hell."

"Figures you asshole, were always jealous of this face," He touched his chin the ghost of a mocking smile sliding into place before he replaced the rag sending his voice an octave higher. "Why would Rogue just stop by? I seriously doubt she came to thank us."

"Dat the exact question I asked her, homme." Remy shifted his weight, legs screaming and gave up the battle of staying on his feet and slumped to the floor. The slow slide was agony, but the rest was pay off enough and he nearly groaned in appreciation. "She was hidin' from de beast. Helped her wit dat before I could get 'er ta talk.

"Can't believe I slept through all that."

Remy cut his eyes across the room. "Well dat cause you had une p'tite help wit de deep sleep."

"What..."

"De Rogue, she touched you first." He was ready for the outburst, and maybe if they hadn't gotten their frustrations worked out earlier there would have been one. Instead John was calm, eerily so.

"You let her touch me?"

"It was just une tap, tu bebe," Remy finished, enjoying the way John's eyes narrowed at the French.

"Shut up," he finally spat giving up on the meaning, or getting it either way Remy was sure he'd have the same reaction.

"We had a little talk, de fille and me, she tol' me what de X-men have planned for us."

"Don't need her to know that," John mumbled. "The authorities and a healthy dose of the cure. Who cares if it wears off, they have a huge supply waiting for that." He clenched his free fist and bounced it against the wall. "Damn..." his voice tapered off as his hand bounced against the wall.

Remy frowned, it seemed the relaxation, or the bone deep too weary to be anything but relaxed, result of the fight was actually wearing off.

"We jus' born for dis kind o' luck."

"Born for bad luck, huh," John whispered, "great, just what I need to be, a divining rob for destruction."

Remy raised a brow, "Dat sound like somet'ing you'd enjoy."

John smiled, half his mouth turning up, "You got that wrong Cajun, I only like that if the destruction is pointed at anyone but me."

"Oui," Remy answered, "dat I can agree wit'."

"So she came to gloat?" John asked, "tell me the rest."

"She was gleamin' your t'oughts gettin' whatever it is we're going ta do after we leave. She was goin' ta try and get us out."

John was silent for a moment, before leaning against the wall eyes searching the bumpy stucco of the ceiling. "That's why I felt like hell this morning, and why you actually slept. How long did she touch you anyway, you were out half the day?"

He couldn't resist. "Remy, he irresistible, de Rogue had to touch a little longer dan required."

"Cajun that something I sure you're wrong about, Rogue goes for the hero types, too good for their own good. The only reason she would have touched you any longer than necessary was to knock you out a little longer."

"Dat jealousy I hear," he mocked, "dat an ugly act."

"Cajun, shut up, until the beast gets here. I'm tired and hungry and don't want to have to kick your ass again."

**0o0o0**

**Ah, another chapter. This one, unlike the last, hated me, but oh well. Tell me what you think.**

**weebird: **Thank you!

**Wanda W: **I mean Logan touched her willingly and so did Bobby, but it scared Bobby to death and Logan, well nothing bothers him. Her plan will be revealed in the next chapter.

**lovestoread: **Thanks I tried to get them all done so that there wouldn't be a huge delay. I just have to read them over a few times before I post. I loved the moment between Rogue and Logan it was probably one of my favorites. It is sad about John, Bobby, and Rogue. I keep wanting them to be friends again, or at least to be friends in another fic, but so far it's not working for this one.

**tfobmy18: **Sorry all those questions won't be answered until next time. **;)**

**Ratdogtwo: **Thanks!

**Pyrowhore: **Thanks, I always thought the three made a good group. All those questions will be answered next chapter.

**Ghostwriter: **Thanks!

**0o0o0o0**

_**From Chapter 20**_

John was somewhere between awake the the creeping fog of a slowly receding dream. His eyes fluttered. His breathing was loud in his own ears, then soft. His body felt heavy. He wanted to stay awake, but he was tired from the fight, wiped, and his mind, still in overdrive, had settled despite his better judgment. That had always been one of his better traits. In the danger room, at least, he was usually able to stay level headed, when he wasn't planning some sort of prank, and even then he was more focused than usual. He jerked. His hand flew to the edge of the bed. He pushed himself to wake, forcing the issue for only a moment longer his eyes opened to slits before darkness slid around him and sleep descended once again.

Something banged. John jerked to an upright position his arms flying to cover his face. He was expecting a flash of light, an alarm, Magneto's voice. He blinked pushing the sleep out of his mind, trying to remember whether or not it was okay for him to be asleep. His arms settled into his lap. He blinked, a hazy dull light was leaking into the room, but other wise it remained dark. The dream faded, he slowly realized where he was. He wasn't sure which was worse, the reality or the dream.

"What dis?"

John blinked forcing himself to become aware when his body was still swimming on sleep. Remy swam into view back blacked against the light in the doorway. The person standing in the doorway was a complete silhouette. He moved to the edge of the bed thankful for the darkness, he could make all the faces he wanted. He winced, curled his lip, and squinted when that hurt worse than a neutral face.

"No time to explain."

John's feet touched the floor and he focused on the silhouette. He knew the voice, but how could it be her, in the middle of the night no less. Surely she wasn't there for another touch. John ignored the sting of cold against his bare feet. He squinted as he pulled up beside Remy.

"Here."

Something was hurdling toward his face. Quick reflexes saved him from re injuring the nose. Even with his quick, yet sleepy reaction, the bundle was only an inch from his nose when he caught it. All he needed was for it to start bleeding again. His hands clasped the heavy canvas, a tote. His fingers fumbled for the zipper. His fingers fumbled for the zipper.

"What the hell," he managed when his eyes finally adjusted and he could see Rogue properly. "What is this?" It was full his clothes, a few notebooks, shoes, socks, a lighter. His eyes focused on the lighter. Screw why. His fingers closed over the shiny metal and a calm washed over him. He hadn't realized that his powers were returning until that moment, hot and wild they rushed over him, as comforting as a warm bed and a good nights sleep. His fingers itched to try the lighter.

He shouldn't. They were obviously on some sort of time table, Rogue, whatever it was she was doing he was sure nobody else knew. Ignoring his common sense, a trait he all too often did, he flicked the lighter to life. The flame danced from the lighter to his finger tips, tip toeing across them. He grinned.

"Well hello there," he whispered more to himself than anyone. Unfortunately he wasn't alone. A hand, long slender with darkly painted nails pushed the lid of the lighter closed. The flames on his fingers died. "Bitch I was just..." he started, but she turned away, rolling her eyes like he was the one being stupid. Hell, he'd just woken up.

His eyes flicked to the Cajun he was flexing his hand but hadn't indulged. John was sure he felt it too. The hollow pit was gone. Once again he was whole. He grinned. No matter what the new day was shaping up to be better than the last few.

"What all dis stuff, petite," Remy asked, still rummaging through the bag. He half pulled a trench coat out of the duffel, a sappy look crossing his face, before he stuffed it back in. John smirked at least he was reacting being able to kick ass again, Remy was about to cry over a fashion accessory. He started to comment on it, but Rogue started to talk silencing his teasing line of thought.

"It's your stuff." Rogue answered.

Hurrah for the obvious John thought.

"...or what Ah could get. We don't have much time before..."

The light outside the room turned red, flashed, seconds later an alarm blared overhead.

**Oh what's next...**


	20. Key To The Highway

**Disclaimer: I don't own a thing**

**Title: Born for Bad Luck**

**By: Peanutbutter**

"_Boys I'm most done travellin', Lord I'm at my journey's end_

_B'lieve I'm most done travellin', Lord my journey's end_

_Well I been lookin' for me a good partner, bad luck is my best friend..."_

**(**_**Born for Bad Luck**_**song by Brownie McGhee)**

**0o0**

**Chapter 20: Key To The Highway **

"_I've got the key to the highway_

_Yes I'm billed out and bound to go_

_I'm gonna leave here runnin'_

_'__Cause walking's just too slow..."_

_**(Key to the Highway**_** by Broonzy – Segar)**

**0o0o0o0**

**John was **somewhere between awake the the creeping fog of a slowly receding dream. His eyes fluttered. His breathing was loud in his own ears, then soft. His body felt heavy. He wanted to stay awake, but he was tired from the fight, wiped, and his mind, still in overdrive, had settled despite his better judgment. That had always been one of his better traits. In the danger room, at least, he was usually able to stay level headed, when he wasn't planning some sort of prank, and even then he was more focused than usual. He jerked. His hand flew to the edge of the bed. He pushed himself to wake, forcing the issue for only a moment longer his eyes opened to slits before darkness slid around him and sleep descended once again.

Something banged. John jerked to an upright position his arms flying to cover his face. He was expecting a flash of light, an alarm, Magneto's voice. He blinked pushing the sleep out of his mind, trying to remember whether or not it was okay for him to be asleep. His arms settled into his lap. He blinked, a hazy dull light was leaking into the room, but other wise it remained dark. The dream faded, he slowly realized where he was. He wasn't sure which was worse, the reality or the dream.

"What dis?"

John blinked forcing himself to become aware when his body was still swimming on sleep. Remy swam into view back blacked against the light in the doorway. The person standing in the doorway was a complete silhouette. He moved to the edge of the bed thankful for the darkness, he could make all the faces he wanted. He winced, curled his lip, and squinted when that hurt worse than a neutral face.

"No time to explain."

John's feet touched the floor and he focused on the silhouette. He knew the voice, but how could it be her, in the middle of the night no less. Surely she wasn't there for another touch. John ignored the sting of cold against his bare feet. He squinted as he pulled up beside Remy.

"Here."

Something was hurdling toward his face. Quick reflexes saved him from re injuring the nose. Even with his quick, yet sleepy reaction, the bundle was only an inch from his nose when he caught it. All he needed was for it to start bleeding again. His hands clasped the heavy canvas, a tote. His fingers fumbled for the zipper. His fingers fumbled for the zipper.

"What the hell," he managed when his eyes finally adjusted and he could see Rogue properly. "What is this?" It was full his clothes, a few notebooks, shoes, socks, a lighter. His eyes focused on the lighter. Screw why. His fingers closed over the shiny metal and a calm washed over him. He hadn't realized that his powers were returning until that moment, hot and wild they rushed over him, as comforting as a warm bed and a good nights sleep. His fingers itched to try the lighter.

He shouldn't. They were obviously on some sort of time table, Rogue, whatever it was she was doing he was sure nobody else knew. Ignoring his common sense, a trait he all too often did, he flicked the lighter to life. The flame danced from the lighter to his finger tips, tip toeing across them. He grinned.

"Well hello there," he whispered more to himself than anyone. Unfortunately he wasn't alone. A hand, long slender with darkly painted nails pushed the lid of the lighter closed. The flames on his fingers died. "Bitch I was just..." he started, but she turned away, rolling her eyes like he was the one being stupid. Hell, he'd just woken up.

His eyes flicked to the Cajun he was flexing his hand but hadn't indulged. John was sure he felt it too. The hollow pit was gone. Once again he was whole. He grinned. No matter what the new day was shaping up to be better than the last few.

"What all dis stuff, petite," Remy asked, still rummaging through the bag. He half pulled a trench coat out of the duffel, a sappy look crossing his face, before he stuffed it back in. John smirked at least he was reacting to being able to kick ass again, Remy was about to cry over a fashion accessory. He started to comment on it, but Rogue broke in silencing his teasing line of thought.

"It's your stuff." Rogue answered.

Hurrah for the obvious John thought.

"...or what Ah could get. We don't have much time before..."

The light outside the room turned red, flashed, seconds later an alarm blared overhead. John covered his ears. Next to him Rogue did the same, but Remy remained calm, arms at his side, bag already across his back, just like it was a walk in the park. Well except for the bruises marring in face. Eye blackened, lip swollen, pale skin, dark circles, he looked like he'd been sleeping the park not taking a stroll. He was glad he couldn't see himself. He was sure his entire face was blue.

"What the fuck." John called over the blaring hands still pressed to his ears. Nobody seemed to hear him. To be honest he couldn't hear himself.

Rogue looked over her shoulder, wide eyed but not overly concerned. She mumbled something that was lost in the blaring siren.

John shook his head and leaned toward the black clad mutant. She was dressed like she was in the black ops. She pulled away, but he grabbed her arm. Stiff as she was she held still while he leaned close to her ear. "What the hell's going on?" he whisptered.

She turned toward him, flashing a smile, a dangerous one the tension in her body relaxed and his grip loosened. It wasn't the reaction he was expecting. She didn't waste any time pulling away. She was still sensitive about that, probably more so now. He straightened either that or he looked worse than he felt and he didn't imagine that was really possible.

She was still grinning. He knew that smile. It was her 'lets break the rules' smile. He'd only had the privilege of seeing it twice on miss the-rules-are-there-for-a-reason-we-must-always-follow-them. Usually the 'your so immature for doing that' was the smile he'd seen, or the 'oh Bobby', smile which still made him gag. Rogue was up to something, but it was bigger than 'lets sneak out' or his ever favorite line that still shocked him to this day 'you got any liquor'.

That one had thrown him for a loop and despite his indignant protest against the fact he did and they drank it, the three of them. Piss poor drunk giggling, making too much noise to be ignored she'd let it slip that she'd been told her mutation was of all the crappy words 'mutating'. She laughed in a half sob that maybe now she'd just have to be in the room with people before they dropped dead. He'd felt sorry then, sorry he'd been staring at her tit, sorry that he couldn't do more than get her tanked, and sorrier even that Bobby pulled her close comforted her, when all he could do was fill her glass.

She leaned toward him arms held behind her back, her breath coasting across his ear. He was still, remembering her red rimmed eyes. He guessed Remy had hit him in the head during the fight. It was the only way he could explain that wavy of sympathy that rushed over him, and he resisted the urge to touch her arm even though she pulled away from him.

"Ah'm getting' ya out of here." She announced. She grinned wider, as his expression. Her eyes an unwavering green of absolute confidence flashed. John squinted unsure of what he'd seen. For a second he was sure he saw blue swimming in them. Before he could examine the phenomenon further she leaned toward Remy, telling him the same.

Though she'd been rigid around him her stance seemed to relax next to the Cajun. It was odd. Her fingers never made a move to touch him and his never inched toward her, but something told him she wasn't nearly as adverse to Remy touch as she seemed to be to his. Then again he didn't try to touch her.

At the finish of her whispered words Remy lifted to full height and Rogue started to jog down the hall way. John stood watching for a moment longer before following his eyes glued to the girl who had been so many things to him: a friend, an enemy, a captive, a rescuee, and now a rescuer. It was too much for an early waking and way to much thought with that damn blaring siren.

His body ached with each step and his bare feet slapped heavily against the linoleum floor as he forced himself to follow. He'd wished he'd taken the time to pull on the shoes in the tote, but there wasn't time or so he assumed. She didn't run for long, about 300 feet, before she stopped, feet nearly sliding and dropped to her knees, her fingers working the screws on a wall vent. Remy dropped to his knees to help. There was no room for him so he stood back. He watched her fingers fly to the second screw, obviously pre loosened. She did the first three, Remy the last three before they both stood. She waved the Cajun in. He didn't hesitate but hunched over, his back touching the top of the vent as he forced himself in. Rogue waved at him to go next.

Tossing the bag over his back and running his arms through the shoulder straps he followed. Oddly enough, the piercing alarm was deadened quite a bit by the metal walls. His ears were still ringing, but he could hear his own breathing. It was a relief. Rogue scrambled in behind him. He could hear her pulling the grate back into place. There was no way the screws could be replaced from the inside, but somehow the grate held. She turned around, a feat, in the cramped vent.

"We can talk a little." She spoke when she was facing him, well mostly she was facing his ass. "No one will hear us in here, plus we're gonna hafta wait a bit before we get out."

"Not that I don't appreciate this," John spat and forced his body into a crouch so he could see her, hunching his back he was able to sit down, his neck protested the bend, his sore muscles complained. All of which made him more pissed, "but what the hell is this." The pack did little to cushion his spine, in fact something hard and flat was jabbing him in the back, probably one of the notebooks. The crawl space was dark, only bits of light crept in through the grate, flashing bright neon that made his head ache. He would have put on his shoes but he couldn't move his arms to his pack.

Remy was silent, too silent. John gritted his teeth. He didn't like being out of control. He didn't know how the Cajun didn't have more of a protest. They were walking blind, following a girl that didn't exactly have a reason to like them.

Rogue was surprisingly chipper. "Remy tell ya that Ah touched you?"

John nodded, catching her face on a flash of light. She said it like it was a wonderful thing. He was pretty sure she'd seen his nod, but he answered aloud as well, "Yeah, could have asked."

She shrugged, shoulders barely moving. "Ah had to know, that you weren't going to do anythang."

"Like set the school a blaze?" John sneered something poked him in the side. The sharp jab sent a jolt of pain through his back when he jumped.

"...the hell Lebeau," John protested but a flash of red let him see the Cajun's face. It was the same look he'd had right after his fight with Bobby. Remy was telling him to shut up. Like he needed that lecture. He could keep his mouth shut, besides she knew he was full of it. She'd looked after all and that was disturbing enough. There was stuff in his head he didn't really want her poking into. He didn't want anyone walking around there, but himself and even sometimes he didn't want to be there.

"Ah needed to know what you were thinking. The Professor won't look without permission and neither one of you were willing, so it was just your word, and well around here that doesn't amount to much."

John snorted, Remy grunted some sound of acknowledgment.

"Ah just took a peek." She conceded as if she was apologizing even though they hadn't asked her to. "To clear you, to get them to let you go."

"So dat wasn't good enough," Remy asked, speaking for the first time since they'd crawled into the vent.

Rogue was silent, for a moment, the alarm pounded on John's ears. He closed his eyes against the blinking light. He felt like he was at a rave, but the good drugs were missing. The strobe was starting to make him sick.

Rogue laughed, short, but obviously involuntary, "Ah saw enough to know that you were no harm to the X-Men but everyone else,"

John was sure she was grinning near laughter again. A good joke he was sure. He just wished he was in on it. He should be, after all whatever was making her laugh had come form his head.

"Everyone else I couldn't be sure of."

"You didn't tell dem?" Remy asked, though John was sure it wasn't really a question. So there was another reason for that grin. She'd lied and broken the rules. His little criminal in training.

"No," she was sober again, grin gone by the tone of her voice. John chanced a look at her. She was straight faced in the red light. She looked at her watch. "We need to move. I'll tell ya more later."

John twisted himself into a crawling position. His neck thanked him, his knees yelled obscenities at him. He was pretty sure there was a big bruise on his shin and under his right knee cap, a smack from the broken bed frame. He gritted his teeth and though he'd forgiven Remy for the fight, nearly thanked him for it, he started to change his mind. Each shuffling step was agony. Over his shoulder Rogue whispered directions. It didn't take him long to figure out where they were going, somewhere in his mind he knew it was familiar. The alarm stopped by time they reached a new grate and his suspicions were confirmed. So she hadn't forgotten his escape route. He wondered if the two of them had ever used it after he left. He didn't really want to know the answer to that.

**0o0o0**

**Remy slipped** from the grate at Rogue's whispered order. She told him to be careful, the place should be clear, but she wasn't positive it would be. He scanned his surroundings briefly before he flipped out of the grate lowering himself toward the floor. His arms shook with the effort it took to hold himself up. He nearly let go when a sharp pain pierced his side. He gasped, small and brief but audible.

"You get shot?" John whispered from above grinning through the mock seriousness. He sounded delighted at the prospect.

Remy looked up trying to decide whether or not he should respond, but another pain raced up his arm making his fingers tingle. His left side went numb. His hand let go, his right followed and he tried to best to salvage the fall and land as lightly as possible. His bad leg hit first, despite the short drop it gave way. Too much pressure. His knee buckled and struck the concrete hard. He bit his lip pushing his cry of pain away. He reminded himself he'd been through worse and softened the landing of his other leg. His bag slipped off his back and down his arm smacking loudly on the concrete. Somehow he remained up right. His body burning he gathered the bag and forced himself upright. He was standing between a large white van and a blue convertible. Even in the dim light he could see it was packed with cars. Under different circumstances a very wealthy prospect. Then again he had never been into car jacking. Rogue had led them to the garage.

John landed nearly silent behind him. Rogue just as quiet, her feet hardly making a noise on the hard floor, followed. There was something to be said for X-Men training. Remy re shouldered his pack shifted his weight off his throbbing leg.

"So," John announced voice no longer hushed. It echoed through the empty garage rebounding off the cars and concrete walls. "You planning on sneaking out for some beers?"

Rogue brushed past him, ignoring that statement. "Everyone should be in the yard. We have to wait until they filter back in, then we have about five minutes to get out the gate before they're locked down again."

"Five minute lag," Remy repeated more to himself than her, "what for?"

"Um," she slipped a set of keys out of her pocket. "Fire alarm. Ah tripped it, sent the students into the yard, teachers, everyone. The system is automatic. After the alarm they reset the system. It takes about three minutes to reboot, the front gate it the last to go online, Kitty tells me it's about five minutes before everything is back to normal. It takes a minute to get out of the drive if you're going forty." She paused and pressed the button on the key chain the lights on a small Volkswagen flashed.

"How about we take the viper," John piped up.

"Please John, this car is better it's..."

"Practical?" John snorted. "It's the worst one in the entire garage!"

"Ah was gonna say it's mine," Rogue hissed, "and it's practically new."

"You're givin' us your car?" Remy asked and looked her over. Her eyes cast to the side and she shuffled her pack. His stomach turned uncomfortably. There was no way she was thinking what he was thinking. It wouldn't work. There was...

John hadn't caught on, still ranting about that choice in car.

He wasn't sure after all. Licking his suddenly dry lips he looked at her drawing her away from John's attention. "Won't de come lookin' for us. Sure de X-Men won't leave prisoners to dere death."

She shifted. John quieted. "Ah kinda locked Hank in his office."

"How'd you do that?" John asked attention diverted from the issue of car choice.

"Ah changed the codes, or, well," she paused a moment, "or mostly Kitty did, but Ah just borrowed a little knowledge while she was sleeping." She looked away eyes resting on the Volkswagen. "The things that girl thinks about, Ah mean seriously they should be worried..." She trailed off.

Maybe she sensed his eyes on her. Somehow he knew just what she was planning.

"Ah know what your thinkin'." She defended though he hadn't said a word.

"Dat may be." Remy started and reached for a pocket, hoping for a smoke, but he'd forgotten he didn't have on his coat. He really needed a smoke, because what she was asking. He couldn't do. "Know dis mind a little, perhaps, but you don' know it all, you don' know everything."

"They'll know it was me," she shook her head, "not that it matters, but Ah can't stay here."

It was more than a statement. It was a plea. Did she know what she was giving up, this girl. He watched her face. She was struggling to say more. She watched him like he should know her struggle, but he didn't he hardly knew himself. As always John broke the silence, crass, and loud, he never was one to disappoint. He voiced what Remy could not.

**0o0o0o0**

**"No way** in hell," John spat. "You're not coming with us."

John couldn't believe what she'd just said. Come with them? It was ridiculous. Why the hell did she want to do that.

"Sorry, petite, but you're out voted. You're not coming wit us."

At least Remy was on his side. The Cajun took a stance of nonchalance against the car his arms crossed over his chest. He suppressed a wince at the movement and John wondered briefly how bad the fall out of the grate had been.

"Ah'm risking everything for you guys. Ah'm going." She planted her feet and gripped the keys in her fist. "That's the deal. You want out you take me with you."

"Why?" Remy asked before John could say anything. "You got a place, dis your home right? Why'd you want ta leave dat?"

John watched her, waiting for her_ brilliant_ answer. They were wanted by Sinister, the damn surviving Mauraders, not to mention the the police, the X-Men. Why in the hell would she want to go with them?

She was silent for a moment eyes darting toward the ceiling. She shrugged. "Not my home anymore."

It was a lie. He admittedly didn't know her as well as he had once thought, but he knew enough to know she was lying. Her eyes were everywhere, her feet shuffled, her fingers shook. She was a horrible lier, but she always had been. time they'd, Bobby, Rogue, and himself, snuck out and gotten caught coming back in. They had a story to cover, but she'd flubbed the entire thing, unable to lie convincingly.

"Right," he spat. She couldn't go. She wasn't like the two of them. She had a place to go. She needed the institute, she needed to be as far away from the two of them as possible. They'd screwed up bad enough with her, nearly getting her killed. Why would she ever think it was a good idea to throw in with the thief and the traitor?

"That's believable, when you've been stuck up the Professor's ass the entire time I've known you." John watched her eyes narrow further. Her cheeks heated in anger. He wasn't done. Let her see what they were about. That he was still who he always was and that she was just what she had always been. He folded his hands under his chin and put a goofy smile on his face. "'He wants to help. He just wants to give us a home.'" he mocked in a sickingly sweet voice. "He really cares about us." He dropped his folded hands and sneered. "Don't lie Rogue, I know you. I know you'd never leave your little flock."

"Fuck you John." She wasn't crying, but her arms shook. Her fists were balled.

John pretended to shake. So he'd coaxed the 'F' word out of her. "Those words," his whispered, "just hurt so much. Not to mention dear little Rogue just where did you learn language like that?"

"Sometimes..." she started unballed fingers shaking her face red.

"What?" he asked. "Sometimes I'm a real asshole?" He laughed even though nothing was funny. "I've always been an asshole. I haven't changed."

Her face fell. Her cheeks lightened. What had he said to make her calm down. He narrowed his eyes and added, "Bitch." She calmed even more, the shake leaving her. The tension he'd been working so hard to build washed away with one word. What the hell?

"John," she paused, voice soothing, "you don't have to do this."

He stepped back, uncomfortable. "Dammit Rogue just get your ass back to the X-Men."

"Ah'm coming."

"We can ditch you any time, cherie. You leave wit us we don' have to keep you." Remy said, still leaning against the car, still the picture of calm.

"Take me as far as your first stop, if ya'll are sick of me, Ah'm out." She shifted her pack, eyes on Remy's, like she expected something from him. John watched the Cajun's face, but he didn't seem to see what John did. He was impassive. "Ah can't stay here anymore."

Her voice was so raw he had to look at her again. Her fingers were still, but white her grip on the key deadly. She was pleading. Rogue didn't beg.

"Please."

But now she was. He thought she was better. He'd heard she'd gotten over the whole incident, but he should have known better. As much as the two of them attracted trouble, Rogue attracted guilt. There was no way she could let a life go, especially one she'd taken. Did he want to see her crying for mercy. Mercy from him. He didn't want to argue anymore. He turned to Remy. "I'm driving."

Remy raised a brow.

Rogue was silent.

He couldn't look at her, tell her that he didn't care anymore. If she needed to get away, who was he to stop her. He'd run too. If she didn't go with them she'd go by herself. John started to speak again when he noticed Remy's stance shift from casual to defensive. He turned his head and cursed under his breath. They'd waited too long, or were too loud, either way bad luck wasn't done with them yet.

**0o0o0o0**

**She didn't** think she'd have to look at him, at any of them ever again. His grip was like ice. She could feel the frost of his touch through the sleeve of her shirt. She didn't want to turn. Rogue bit her lip forcing her teeth not to chatter, despite the chill creeping over her body from Bobby's frosty skin. His fingers tightened.

"Rogue."

It wasn't a question. He tugged. Despite her planted stance she stepped back.

"Hey!" It wasn't a greeting. "She say she wanted to go with you?"

Rogue eyes shot up. John was back, no longer busy fighting over who was going to drive. He was stalking toward them hand already tight on the lighter she'd stashed in his duffel. She really should have skipped that. Remy was just a step behind, casual though the way his eyes skipping over the scenery said more about his state of mind. If Rogue hadn't seen, hadn't heard his voice whispering words of comfort, confidence while she struggled to stay herself she would have been fooled. Gambit was all about illusion. He let you see what he wanted you to.

John was burning. Heat rolled off him, his own personal heater even though his powers were unable to call the fire without a starter. John was built inside and out for the flames he controlled so readily. Rogue held up her hand hoping to halt him, but he merely raised a brow at her raised hand, acknowledging but ignoring the gesture. Just what had happened to his extreme protest to her coming minutes ago. He didn't even glance at her upturned hand, eyes focused on Bobby. Remy was just as hot, electricity jumping off him in similar yet less substantial waves. They weren't going to back away. Not when John wanted just what Bobby didn't, and not when Remy had a loyalty streak a mile long.

"This isn't about you Allerdyce, at least not yet," Bobby spat fingers tighter, pulling harder. Her sleeve crackled.

"Really, this time I think it will be a fair fight." Flames sprung into his palm, cards were suddenly alive in Remy's hand.

"Stop," she snarled yanking her hand out of Bobby's quickly freezing grasp. She didn't want another fight. She was hoping to sneak out quickly, quietly, secretly. For the moment they froze, not literally, but John let the flame die, and that bright pink glow faded from the cards. She gathered her courage, which was fading and turned around.

Somewhere in her head a few people were shuffling, turning from inside their homes and watching. Remy more solid since the last she touched him and John were whispering. It was too strange to have them in front of her and in her mind at the same time. Bobby, oddly was absent.

"Bobby," she sighed her words rushing from her throat as soon as she looked at his face, his tortured blue eyes said more than he did. He was confused and completely clear at the same time. He knew. He just didn't want to face it. Rogue forced herself to stand up straight.

"Did they do this?"

It was a stupid question, a formality, an out. "No, Bobby, Ah'm makin' sure they get out of here."

"Rogue," he hissed, "they're the enemy."

"Bobby," She forced herself to look him in the eye. "Just go back to the house."

His brow furrowed, "So you let them go. This is how you protest, dammit Rogue they kidnapped you! Not to mention the Morlocks, all those people..." he trailed off running out of steam.

"It isn't just about that." She whispered and she wanted to pull him close to ease his pain, but this time it wasn't about anybody else.

Bobby stepped closer, Remy and John shuffled behind her.

"Then what is it!" He wasn't finished after all. "What makes it okay to break the prisoners out? What makes it okay to leave with the enemy! They're the enemy Rogue! Don't make..." His fist balled at his sides hardened. He turned eyes toward the ceiling. "Don't make," he paused his voice loosing steam again.

She knew the sound. She remembered his whispered anger after they'd left his parents house, after John had left. He was hurting. His frozen hands slammed into the Jeep just to his right. The sound was enough to make her jump. Heat exploded behind her back. Fire crackled, an electric sizzle reached her ears. Bobby ignored them both, jaw clenched eyes still staring at the ceiling.

"Don't make me fight you, too." The words rushed from his mouth a forbidden whisper. His shoulders shook, his eyes glazed as he turned to face her again. His iced fist was melting back to flesh. "I will." He whispered, "I'll fight you all if I have to."

Always the hero, always the right thing, even when what was right was very, very wrong. She caught glimpses of John and Bobby years before there last meeting. She saw Bobby at his worst, turning his best friend away, lacking sympathy, a heart, a conscience. How he'd felt afterward should have told him the decision was wrong, but Bobby didn't see shades of gray. There was only right and wrong. She didn't have to look into his mind to know how he felt about it. She knew because he had come to her that night, broken, confused, and guilty over something he would never confess to her. She knew know what had nearly shattered him.

He was breaking again and this time she was the one doing it. She bit her lip and shook her head.

"Ah don't wanna fight ya Bobby."

"But we will," John piped up delighted by the turn of events.

Rogue whipped around eyes hard on his. "St. John shut up and get away from us."

He frowned, looked murderous for a moment before his eyes flicked back to Bobby, his original target. "The icecube can't be trusted."

Rogue swallowed and stepped toward her two strange bodyguards. She pushed John and grabbed Remy's arm turning him back toward the car. "Both of ya, go Ah'm fine."

"I'm not leaving." John protested, eyes fixed on Bobby.

"John," Rogue snarled and pushed again, he planted his feet, fire flashing across his palm, up his arm. Rogue jumped back. Bobby stepped up.

It was going to end in a fight. So much for her plan. The two former friends could look at nothing but each other, until Remy's hand gripped John's shoulder tugging his attention away.

"Dis way homme, give de femme a minute."

His calm voice was like water over his flame. He deflated a bit, and backed away.

Remy turned toward her, "You need us chere you call." He turned pulled John with him, just out of ear shot.

"What's wrong?"

Such a simple question, such a complicated answer. She couldn't explain it to him.

"Nothing," by the look on his face she could tell he didn't believe that. She shook her head despite his denial, "Ah can't," he knew her well enough to know she was lying, but not enough to know she was drowning. "Bobby believe me when Ah say I'm better off with them." She didn't know if it was true, but the explanation was better than the truth.

"Bullshit," he spat brow creasing, "Bullshit Rogue, running with a thief and traitor, somehow I don't think that's better.

"Dammit Bobby," she couldn't tell him how much it hurt to stay, better off or not she couldn't live with the X-Men anymore. It was enough to bring tears to her eyes, but she pushed the lump out of her throat. She wasn't going to cry. "Ah'm not turnin' against you. Ah just need to leave!" Why couldn't he let her go?

"Why? Why them? Why can't you work it out here?"

Too many questions, too many answers that she didn't want to give. How come he only saw gray areas where she was concerned, where it wasn't deserved.

"Bobby..."

"Have you even asked for help? I'm here, your friends are all here!"

That was the problem, "Bobby..." she tried again, but he wasn't listening.

"I know you absorbed that girl."

Her heart constricted.

"That she's dead. I know that, it doesn't matter."

But it did matter. '_Ah killed her,' _her mind whispered the words too intimate to speak aloud. _"Ah had to lock her up to be myself. Ah made the decision, but Ah can't be okay with it." _

"You're still part of the team. It's not your fault."

_'Not my fault. Not my fault," _her heart raced, her mind raced faster memories flying across her mind that were not her own. _'Ah keep her locked away. Ah promise to leave her alone, but Ah can't.' _Her palms were sweating. She clenched her fist, loosened her hand, clenched it again. Her skin crawled with prickling heat, her chest was too tight. She couldn't breath.

"Just forget it, nobody cares..."

Her breathing hitched. She tried to suck in air, fill her lungs, but it wouldn't come. Her fingers danced at her side. Carol screamed in the back of her mind. She was falling. Her control was slipping. This time nothing could stop it. Bobby was still speaking, but his words didn't reach her ears. He didn't know she was slipping away. No one did.

_'Rogue.'_

She jumped, her mind hiccuping at the intrusion, but her body remained still. Her fingers moved faster.

_'Rogue you must take control. You cannot let yourself loose control.'_

Control? She'd never been able to control her powers. Her entire life was about her lack of control. She couldn't do it.

_'Rogue listen to my voice. Just follow my voice.' _

Follow, she could do that.

_'It's the Professor. Can you do what I tell you?" _

She felt a tremor rush up her spine. She blinked. _'Ah'll try.'_

_'Breathe.'_

She pulled the air in. Her lungs expanding before she was even aware she'd done it. Her chest ached.

_'You mustn't dwell on Carol. Let her go. You're are only making what you wish to avoid worse. Release her.'_

The request was harder to comply with. She focused on the image of Carol, frozen in screaming horror, sobbing. Guilt stabbed her gut. Slowly she pushed her away, forcing the guilt out of her mind. The girl faded the guilt with it. The pain was no longer stabbing, but dull.

_'Why does this keep happening?' _Rogue whispered. She closed her eyes willing it away and found herself in the pleasant scape of her mind. The wind was blowing, the grass was brushing against her legs and the Professor was sitting the the middle of it smiling solemnly.

_'Rogue you are not yet healed. You do not have full control. I had hoped to work with you. To help you come to terms with the things that had happened. I believe there might be true progress coming very shortly.'_

_How many times had she heard those same words. It wasn't fair to say they had been lies, but they were never enough, not for what she wanted in life. 'Ah can't stay here anymore.'_

_He hung his head and turned away from her. She was sure she had never seen him look so sad and disappointed at the same time. _

_'All of you are like my children. I don't wish to see you suffer, but sometimes,' he turned back toward her, 'sometimes it cannot be helped, not matter how much I try to stop it. I don't think leaving is the right choice, but as always,' he smiled faintly, 'it is your choice.'_

_'And them,' as the words left her mouth their bodies wafted into view, vague representations, but solid enough. John looked bored, a little pissed, Remy waved mockingly at the Professor offering a fake salute. 'What about them.'_

_'I planned to let them go. I had my own reasons. I just wished to offer them a place to stay. It was not to be,' he paused, 'emotions are too high, it is not the time to ask them to come back. I've missed St. John since the day he left, regretted his deflection, his choices, but have always hoped he would return. In a fashion he did. I believe he has turned a corner, and even if I cannot help...' He trailed off. _

_Rogue was silent as she watched him. She knew the Professor cared, but perhaps she didn't know how much. 'And Remy?' _

_'Him I know nothing of. His mind is blocked to me. He is not even aware of that power.' Xavier shook his head. 'He is another I cannot help. If you believe him to be sincere I have always trusted you judgment.'_

_Her heart soared at the compliment. _

_Xavier smiled broader, 'Rogue you must realize that you have always been dear to me, trusted, special, as are all my X-Men enlisted or not. If you wish to leave, you may go, companions in tow, but remember you are always welcome back home, them as well.'_

_Rogue smiled despite the tears building in her eyes. 'Ah should have talked to yah," she sniffed, "Ah should have talked to yah about everything.'_

_He waved his hand in dismissal. 'It is no matter. You are speaking to me now. I've had my chance to say goodbye and to offer you sanctuary, not matter the circumstances. I worry about your control. That is my only real complaint, other than my own personal feelings. If you need me I will be there. Remember how to control your mind.'_

_'Ah'll try.'_

_Suddenly he was right in front of her fingers on her cheek, brushing the tears from her cheeks. She would miss him, she would miss everybody so much. She gasped, 'Tell Logan Ah said goodbye. He won't understand.' she shook her head. 'He always told meh bye. He saved me...' she trailed off. 'He knows doesn't he? That Ah love him like my, he's been...' _My father._ She couldn't say the words. They were too personal. 'Tell him for me.'_

_'Dear Rogue, Logan will be angry, but he will still care for you. I will tell him of your decision, and I am sure he feels the same way about you.' _

_His hand dropped to her shoulder. 'Now you must go back.' _

_'How?'_

_He smiled open your eyes Rogue. She did. _

Remy swam into view, he was cradling her shoulders his fingers warm and strong on her body. She should pull away, he was too close, but he was smiling at her. A bright half smile and his voice wafted to her and it was too nice to hear his words of comfort in person, better even than the Remy in her head.

"You alright, chere?" His fingers brushed her hair his nails barely grazing her cheek.

She nodded, still dazed and sat up. Her face was wet, eyes burning. The crying had been real. She heard a crash to her right and immediately bolted to her feet. Bobby and John were fighting, again.

"Started at it as soon as you cut out and fell. John jumped on 'im, said it was the iceboy's fault." Remy was poised to join. "Guess if you're alright I'd better break dem up, eh?" He raised a brow. Rogue held his arm stopping him. She didn't want anyone else fighting. "Dere somet'ing more pressing?" Remy asked. He seemed annoyed.

"Ah just," she started when John and Bobby both froze in mid punch.

"Well dat was unexpected." Remy whispered.

Rogue didn't have time to look at him. She rushed for the two fighters.

_'I will only hold him until you leave. Remember to tell us how you are. Goodbye Rogue.'_

"Thank you." she answered aloud.

"Dat wasn't me, chere," Remy voiced from her side his fingers pressed into the still, silent statue of John. "So we gonna put dem in scandalous positions? I'm t'inking dat John just needs a big hug from de popcicle."

He was joking, she was sure, but he sounded serious. She started to protest when John came back to life. His face fell to normal and his raised fire covered fist disappeared. He blinked.

"What the hell." he started, but stopped his head cocked to the side.

Rogue knew the Professor was speaking to him. Remy poked him in the shoulder.

"Homme you okay, what de hell happened?"

John's jaw clenched his face ticked. He stared at Bobby then turned his eyes to Rogue. His expression softened, only slightly. "Well I guess you'd better get your crap."

"Huh?" Rogue asked elegantly.

"You're coming right, this entire disaster was your idea right, well get your shit lets go." He stomped toward his dropped duffel and threw it over his shoulder.

Remy flashed John a look, but he shrugged and started toward the car.

"We've got three minutes, until he's free again and just to let you know Logan is already on his way here." John seemed to casual.

Rogue wiped her cheeks quickly and grabbed her bag. Remy followed sauntering toward the drivers seat. Rogue climbed into the back. John claimed shot gun.

"Sure dat the convertible is off limits?" Remy asked as he started the engine on the small Volkswagen.

John was surprisingly sullen. "Cajun just drive."

Remy stepped on the gas and the car tore from the garage just as the doors slid open. In half a minute they were out the gate, which swung open to let them leave and a yell, too animal to be anyone but Logan followed them down the road. The get away was silent and Rogue sunk into the seat wondering if she would ever see the mansion again. Quickly she turned around her fingers pressed against the glass. She tried to burn the image into the mind, afraid she would never see it again. All too quickly it faded into the night and Remy shifted gears pushing the car faster. She closed her eyes against silent tears and hoped she'd made the right decision, the Professor's words echoing in her head.

_'...remember you are always welcome back home.'_

**0o0o0o0**

**He was** smoking a lot. He was aware of it so he could make himself stop, but it was hard. Every time his hand was free his mind wandered so he lit up another cigarette to occupy his hands and his mind, somehow he soothed by the repetitive act. They'd driven straight through the first night, Rogue slumped in the back seat feigning sleep, John snoring in the front. He heard her cry, the tortured sound of her hiccuped tears that she tried desperately to hide.

He even reached out one time his fingers pressed to the top of her head, hoping to convey a bit of comfort. He knew how it was to leave everything behind. He rubbed her hair aware that her sniffles subsided. He knew what it was like to have no other choice and even if he didn't know exactly what had brought her to that decision he recognized their similar fates. She couldn't call home, home anymore, neither could he, neither could John. Her chocked voice only spoke to him once.

"Ah'm fine," she whispered. "Really. Ah'm fine."

She didn't speak again and he let his hand rest on her until her gloved fingers pushed him away. His fingers tingling from her touch he retreated and lit the first cigarette in his pack. He rolled down the the window letting the night air rush across his face. While her sniffles died to near silent sobs he smoked another, and another until he was out and started on John's pack.

He'd stopped to fill up and nicked a few new packs from the gas station before the fire mutant woke up and Rogue red faced and sad was finally asleep. John drove next settling into the drivers seat. They still had no destination, just away, as far away as they could get in one night. Remy didn't sleep the entire time, though his eyes were shut and his arms crossed over his chest. He couldn't do it. His fingers itched to hold something and his mind screamed for nicotine. His memories were running rampant.

Finally he sat up opening his eyes and eying the clock. He'd only been down for fifteen minutes. He reached for his half smoked pack and rolled the window down. He pressed his finger to the tip, revealing in the feel of his powers coursing through his fingers, thankful he didn't have to live without them.

"You're supposed to be sleeping." John said his eyes still on the road.

"Yeah," Remy ashed his cigarette out the window. "I should be." There was no point in telling his companion that he couldn't sleep. John already knew.

"So where you want to head?"

Remy shrugged and drew in another burst of smoke. He was going to make himself sick if he didn't eat soon. Smoke on an empty stomach was a lesson he'd learned a long time ago.

"I was thinking," John spoke, hesitant enough to make Remy look at him. He paused as if the thought was lost, or he'd lost his nerve.

"What?" Remy asked prompting and smoked another lung full. His stomach flopped. Frowning he paused the cheery tip hanging out the window hoping the feeling would pass.

"I'm was thinking of two things, first do you want to ditch her?"

Remy ignored the flopping and took another drag, his throat closed angrily, his stomach protested the lack of substance. "Non, I t'ink she'll leave when she's ready."

John didn't answer and Remy didn't want to know what he was thinking. He kept his eyes on the smoking tip. "Sides she don't have no where ta go."

He had no answer to that. Remy watched the white lines on the road, wondering if the repetitive pattern would put him to sleep if he watched long enough. He let the cigarette fall from his fingers. He was going to have to get some food, at least something to counter act the smoke inhalation.

"I was thinking we head for the beach."

Remy raised a brow, "looking for a keg party?"

He didn't rise to the laid banter, "It's summer, everyone is there. We can probably blend in for a while, lay low before we decide what to do. 'Sides I always liked the beach."

It was odd to hear John talk about it, almost wistful. He shrugged. It wasn't a bad idea. "Yeah, could probably find a job or two."

John nodded. "I figured."

So destination decided. "You hungry?"

"Starving."

"Pull off on de next exit. I need some food an' a new pack."

"Hey Roguey," John called over his shoulder.

Remy didn't see the point in waking her. He still remembered her tears and the comfort he'd tried to give.

"What," she moaned, not tortured but sleepy.

"We're getting some grub, what do you want?"

"Ah don' know," she answered and moaned again.

"You still like bacon cheese burgers?" John asked.

She was quiet for a moment. "Yeah, sounds good."

"Wendy's then, just don't dip your fries in your frosty. Thats nasty."

"Never did try it." She protested. The light banter was waking her up. She sat up, stretched before declaring. "My entire body aches."

Remy grinned, "I got just de t'ing for all dose little aches, petite."

"Ah'm Ah going to be forced to listen to your lame come ons this entire trip?"

John laughed, "Lame is right."

Remy paused, "Qui, chere dis Cajun's got a thousand more."

She groaned, mocking, "Ah changed my mind, can Ah go back."

"Nope, It's a one way ticket," John answered. "Listening to Remy's stupid ass comments it just part of the package."

Remy smacked the back of John's head.

"Careful," John said, glaring, "I'm driving I could send us right into that ditch, a tree," he swerved into the opposite lane, the neighboring car laid on the horn, "on coming traffic."

Before Remy could counter Rogue spoke up again.

"Where are we going?"

John answered. "Beach."

"Ah always liked the Beach." Rogue whispered.

The two fell into an easy conversation and Remy reached for another cigarette. He hesitated with the tip in his mouth his finger poised to ignite the end. Suddenly he didn't really feel like smoking anymore. Absently he tucked the cigarette back into it's pack, surely the urge would come back later, and leaned back his seat. So they were being chased by Sinister, Mauraders, maybe a few members of the X-Men, and thier last job had left him without cash and with no contacts with revisiting. In some ways he was worse off than when he'd left Louisiana, in others, the plastic wrap on the cigarette pack glowed to life before he dropped it out th window, the low charge hardly making a sound, beside him John was protesting something and Rogue, no longer crying, at least for the moment, was answering. He wasn't alone and his powers were his and oddly enough so was his life. Things were certainly looking up for the three that seemed to be born for bad luck.

**That's the last chapter, but there is an epilogue consisting of three chapters each focused on one character, just to wrap up a little and lead to the sequel I'm writing. Anyone interested in giving me a beta let me know. Thank you all again, everyone who has ever reviewed this story. I've never gotten such a good response. I hope that I'll be able to hit 200 reviews with this chapter and the next three epilogue shorts. Thanks for telling me what you think. Short or long I love every review!**

**Ghostwriter:** Thank you so much for reviewing!

**tfobmy18:** Guess you were right about Rogue and you're right about Remy and John shameful all the violence, but they wouldn't let the air clear any other way. Those two are odd ones. Thanks for the review.

**Ratdogtwo:** Thank you so much for the reviews!

**PyroWhore:** Glad you liked the fight. I was trying for somewhat amusing, after all they didn't really want to kill each other. Thanks for the review!

**lovestoread:** Thanks so much for the bit on the last chapter, still my favorite. I thought Remy had to do something and with John pretty much running on anger it was bound to get out of control. Glad you liked it. Thanks for the review.

**Wanda W:** Yes _male bonding _you can only shake your head at it. You're right Logan would have no sympathy for them just annoyance. I'm glad you liked it. Thanks for the review.

**No preview this time. I'm keeping it a mystery.**


	21. One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer

**Disclaimer: I don't own a thing**

**Title: Born for Bad Luck**

**By: Peanutbutter**

"_Boys I'm most done travellin', Lord I'm at my journey's end_

_B'lieve I'm most done travellin', Lord at my journey's end_

_Well I been lookin' for me a good partner, bad luck is my best friend..."_

**(**_**Born for Bad Luck**_ **song by Brownie McGhee)**

**Epilogue Chapter 1: One bourbon, One scotch, One beer **

"_...And then I sit there, gettin' high, mellow  
Knocked out, feeling good and by the time  
I looked on the wall at the old clock on the wall  
By that time, it was ten thirty daddy_

_I looked down the bar, at the bartender  
He said, "Now what do you want Johnny?"_

_One bourbon, one scotch, and one beer..."_

_(_song _One Burbon, One Scotch, On Beer _by John Hooker_)_

**0o0o0o0**

_**John sunk** into his seat and twisted the collar of his button up shirt. They'd taken his lighter and forced him into a fucking button up and a pair of khakis. His pants were too high, wrenched upward by his crazy-ass social worker trying to give him the mother of all wedgies. She'd plastered his hair to his head with an entire bottle of gel and half a bottle of hair spray. He could swear his lungs were sticking with each breath of air he took. Somebody was going to pay if he died from toxic fume inhalation. Of course he wouldn't be alive to sue, but he was going to haunt that frizzy headed bitch of a social worker for the rest of her life. _

_This was the most uncomfortable room he'd ever been in. It was cold, gray, concrete, and the table was plywood covered in woodgrain tacky paper. The chairs were wobbly green plastic, but what could expect when he was sleeping in a room with four other boys. Pissing in their beds, suck up, kiss asses that thought an adopted family was waiting for them. This room was supposed to spark some sort of familial bond. Mostly he wondered when the cops were going to come in and demand information. How were you supposed to feel like_ connecting _when you felt like you were about to be interrogated. John had been in the system for a mere two and a half years, but it was enough for him to figure out the game. Most foster families were okay, but none were good and he was never wanted. Nobody had _connected _with him in the bonding room. Besides, he'd had a father and a mother, and neither of them had ever done him any good. He could and would live without either for the rest of his life. _

_John pushed is hand through his overly producted hair. It stuck. He pulled and gave a painful start at his first attempt to mess up the shiny helmet that was currently parading as his head. He utilized his other hand and carefully pushed, twisted, mashed his hair into messy spikes. Because of all the product it stayed where he pulled it. His hands were covered in gunk by the time he was finished. Frowning, he searched the room, but there was nothing to wipe his hands on. Shrugging, he wiped his hands on the leg of his pants. The thigh of the khakis turned dark. He grinned. He'd liked to see them stuff him into those pants again. _

_Before he could think of anything else to do the door opened, letting a bit of fresh air into the stale room. No windows, a cell block, more than a meeting place. He was supposed to make meaningful family connections not feel like he was supposed to be on an episode of Law and Order. He was waiting for his cup of coffee and the offer of a cigarette before they got down to the grilling. _

_His social worker walked in first, her forced smile fell when she laid eyes on him and John, breaking his resolve to remain straight-faced if not angry the entire time, grinned back, winking. Her eyes dulled, glazed over hazel, and her mouth hardened. She was near snarling. He showed his teeth unable to resist and leaned back in his chair and propped his boots on the table. She looked like she wanted to shut the door behind her but a man followed, pushing slightly, and walked into the room. _

_He was smiling. John got rid of his smile, tried for indifferent. The man, dressed in a fucking sweater vest and a pair of khakis, identical to his own, was still smiling. He pushed his sunglasses, thick and dark further up his nose. He made no move to remove them. His hair was perfectly set on the top of his head. He looked over joyed to be there, but most everyone coming to get a new son, somebody to lovingly call them Daddy looked that way, unrealistically happy. It was his self appointed job to crush all fatherly feelings. _

_It was odd that there was no wife. It was okay. He could adjust and the guy looked like a push over anyway. _

"_St. John, I've been trying to see you for a while now." _

_John raised a brow. "Don't call me that." He returned. _

"_John?" He queried._

"_No, St," he amended, annoyed. "I'm not a fu..." The hand flashed across the short expanse of the room to tap the back of his head and non too lightly. "That's abuse," John spat forgetting his new prospective parent. "Want me to report you." _

_She didn't respond, not in words, but narrowed her eyes, anger glazed still, and nodded slightly toward the man sitting across from him. "Watch you mouth." She warned, this time verbally. _

"_Saint," he finished despite his interruption. _

"_What?" The man asked. _

"_I'm not a saint." John finished. "Do I look like someone who gives out blessings of peace and prosperity." _

_He doesn't say anything for a moment. Thinking. John doesn't like the thinkers. It makes him believe there is something else the man wants. The silence only lasts a moment. He turns away from John to the social worker. _

"_Ann, can I talk to him alone?" _

_That's a new one. _

_She uncrosses her arms and stands straight eyes hardly leaving John. Her gaze lingers on the man for only a moment before she nods. "Okay, for a bit. Let me warn you he doesn't always behave." She pauses for a moment. "Do you smoke?" _

_The man shakes his head 'no'. _

"_Okay," she reconsides, "Just come on out when you're ready." _

_Sunglasses looks at him again. "My name is Scott Summers." _

"_Great," John mumbles and picks at the tacky paper on the table intent on pulling it off. A corner folds upward and he peals off a strip. _

"_I come from a school that takes in people like yourself." _

"_Unwanted, poor, lost souls who just need a little guidance." John recited. "Let me tell you before hand that it doesn't work. I'm not some poor lost soul. I know exactly what I am." _

"_Really." Even behind his sunglasses John can see the brow peeking over the rim. He looks amused though he had no real way to tell. _

"_Did they tell you I'm a mutant." He laughed. "Not messed up or lost, but..." he paused, "evolved. Just a bit better than the average human being." _

_He chose not to respond to the rant. "Xavier's Institute for Gifted Youngsters..." _

"_Wait," John snorted hand flying to his mouth as he tried to stifle the laugh, "You think I'm gifted. That's a new one. I've heard disturbed, delinquent, and misguided, and one time," He set his chair to all fours and leaned over the table, "one time I was described as misunderstood, but that didn't last long." He laughed out right, "Gifted, huh, I should have known." _

"_Professor Xavier is a great man he has brought mutants together, to allow for a normal life." The man, Scott Summer, looked too anxious for a moment. If he was supposed to spin a web of want he was failing. Desperation was nothing but, well, desperate, and John had never responded well to begging. _

"_Sure, does this little group include therapy as well as prescription medication?"_

_He ignored the quip. "We know that your mutation it a gift, not a curse, or anything to be ashamed of." _

_John lost the ability to speak. Sure he said something along the same lines since he'd found out he was a mutant, but it was an entirely different experience to have to spoken back to him. Before it was him against everyone, and this man was offering him something more. It was disconcerting. _

"_I was an orphan." _

"_Oh sob for you." John snarled with mock sympathy. Still dwelling on the concept of an Institute full of mutants. The man didn't seem to realize he'd already sparked his interest. He was trying a new angle and in the attempt he was threatening to loose the sliver of interest that had been piqued. _

"_I was left at the orphanage for a long time after my parents died. My brother," he paused, "I'm not even sure what happened to him." _

_John tore a strip from the table that didn't thin until somewhere near the middle of the table. A bit pleased he ripped the tacky paper loose and tossed it over his shoulder before starting on another. The man continued to talk hardly deterred by his lack of attentiveness. _

"_I was offered a chance, a chance to control my gift." _

_That got his attention. He abandoned his attempt to strip the table and looked up. He met the man's eyes or tried to. He couldn't see past the thick lenses of dark red shade. He didn't say anything but he watched the sweater vest man. For the moment he had his attention. What exactly did he mean by control?_

"_Nobody knew what to do with me. I couldn't open my eyes without destroying everything I looked at. I kept them bandaged." _

"_So," John interrupted. "you're not only a member, or a client too." The comment produced a scowl. The next question hung in the air, begged to be asked. He could resist. Not to mention he had never been much for silence. "What can you do?" _

_Scott paused, sputtered like he'd just asked something incredibly rude, "um, optic blasts, I shoot them from my eyes, uncontrollable." _

"_Didn't you just say you went there to get control?" John mocked and turned back to the table. "I mean this 'Institute' doesn't sound real appealing if they couldn't help you." _

"_I might have been able to attain it but there was a car accident. I suffered brain damage and lost the ability to control it." He paused shifted, his eyes darted across the room. "The Professor, and others, they made this glasses for me, allowed me to see, to function as normally as possible." _

"_As normally as possible," John echoed sarcastically, "That's just great." _

"_Without his help I wouldn't have been able to..." he trailed off his rant falling short. "They saved my life." _

"_Defensive and dramatic," John mumbled, "calm down lifetime channel I didn't mean to rile your sensitive hormone levels." _

_Scott groused. _

_John smirked. "Car accident huh?" He raised his brows. "Were you driving?" _

_Scott turned back to John. Eyes lost behind the red wall denied you access to his emotions.. "What?" _

"_The car," John pressed, "were you driving it?" _

"_No." He answered shortly. _

"_Huh," John picked a the table again, but his gaze never left his sweater toting visitor. The subject bothered him, and what was it all those therapist had told him? Bottling everything up was a bad thing. He was going to help the man out. "So somebody hit you with the car?" _

"_No." Mouth tightened, tensing. John kept asking. Maybe the guy would go psycho and he'd be allowed to blow off prospective parents until he reached18. The whole song and dance over all he had to wait for was the ceremonial kick in the ass as he walked out the door.. _

"_Drunk driver, did you sue, did Mum and Daddy get a good settle?" _

_His hands were gripping the table, white knuckled, veins showing starkly on his pale hands. He bunched, like a cat ready to pounce. His jaw tightened, a muscle ticked, his nostrils flared. _

"_So, ol' mom and dad didn't make it did they?" John grinned, victory. The man's grip on the table tightened. "Left you in charge of the little one. Screwed that up." _

"_John," the man's stance never slacked, but his face, that tense jaw relaxed just a bit. "What happened to your parents." _

_John frowned, derailed a bit by the change in questions. He should have expected it. Questions like that begged to reciprocated. _

"_Dead." John smiled. "They did the world a favor by blinking out. Yours too?" His own jaw tightened. His fingers lip against the back of his head tightened at the lie. It wasn't quite true. He smirked even though his chest tightened a bit. _

"_You're father died in a fire?" He ignored the question about his parents. Probably smart. Anger was what he was prepared for _

_It was in his file. Everyone knew, but he didn't like to talk about it. About how ironic it was that his father would die in a fire, when his son, who could control the crackling flames,could have saved him. Not that his powers had even manifested at the time, or at least. John blinked Scott was talking to him. He'd spaced out. _

"_What," he asked freighting disinterest. _

"_Your mother..." _

"_Was a bitch," John finished without thought. He didn't want to talk about this anymore. "You a shrink or something? Why are you bringing this shit up?" _

_He cocked his head to the side. "John you didn't have to be like this." _

"_Like what?" He had no come back for that. He didn't know exactly what the man was talking about, and he was slowly and obviously losing his edge. He wasn't supposed to be the one on the defensive. Generally perspective parents tried not to piss off their future children, at least not until they had them home and under their rule._

"_There are people who care. Professor Charles Xavier took me in when nobody else would. He has made it his lifes work to help others. Others like yourself with gifts they aren't sure how to use." _

_John set his chair on four legs. "I take care of myself alright. Have been for years and my powers," he shrugged. "I'm doing fine with those." _

_It was true he was able to call the flames from his lighter to his hand, and even if the flames sometimes got out of control he was usually able to put it out. His skin, gratefully, didn't burn. He was no danger to himself. Others, or so he'd been told, should stay away. Story of his life. _

"_That may be true." Scott paused. "but this isn't a home. We can give you that." _

_'Home' what a strange word. It held little to no meaning for him. "You mean somewhere to store my shit without having to pay. I've got that here." _

"_No, I mean," he was searching for something to say. John was used to that. He usually stunned people into silence. "There are others like you. They've lost their families, we are here to help." _

"_A prison." John muttered. _

"_A home." Scott repeated. "You can come and go as you want. We won't force you to stay, but we'll teach you what we can, help you control your powers." _

_He brooded for a moment, wishing he would just go away, and wishing more that the bitch of a social worker would let him have a smoke. The fact that he was underage didn't seem to bother her as much as what he'd done to her when explaining his powers. She'd freaked. It was her fault the flames jumped so high. He had it under control until she screamed. He'd promised he'd never set her on fire again, beside he only singed her hair a bit. She'd completely over reacted. He would have been able to snuff it out if she'd kept her big gob shut. _

"_I've just got three more years here before I'm free." John answered. _

"_Then what?" _

_John wished there was a window. For once he was having trouble making eye contract. Usually he had his visitors looking for an escape route. "I get a hooker and become a man," he spat, "what the fuck does it matter." _

_Silence was his answer. He hoped he'd hear the door open, shut, and then he could go back to his room. _

"_We can put you through college." _

_They'd have to get him through high school first. _

"_Or you can stay at the mansion." _

_Stay at the freak institute, fuck no. _

"_It's your decision. If you want to know more, I'll tell you, but..." He trailed off for a moment before starting again. "The path your on, it only leads one way." _

"_Oh yeah," John answered finally on familiar territory. His smug indifference returned. "To sleep, cause that's were I'm going after this." _

"_No. Just somewhere you don't want to be." _

"_Prison?" He nearly laughed it. How many times had he been told that one._

"_You'll be dead John. You think the world is getting more tolerate of us. They're not, not yet. It's possible to bring peace but we have to do everything we can to ensure it. You have to be better than the average." _

"_Such high expectations." He mocked._

"_You're angry." _

"_Oh you're observant." _

"_Anger is okay. I was angry for a long time, still am sometimes, but there are ways to use it, you know besides burning down building in Harlem." _

"_They were eye sores, besides nobody ever proved that it was me." He couldn't help the grin that spread across the side of his mouth. _

"_The buildings just happened to stay put after you were incarcerated." _

"_Funny how that works." Still unwilling to make eye contact he rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. Summers was an interesting guy. _

_Scott cracked a smile. He actually laughed. "Right." _

"_What do you mean about this anger thing?" John asked. "You're the first one to tell me it was a good thing." _

_He glanced at Summers he was grinning. Like they'd just had some hallmark moment. John should have scoffed, but the smile, there was something about it. Something about this whole proposition that was a bit covert. He could do mystery. _

"_John, if you want to know, you'll have to come with me." He was still smiling, completely self satisfaction. _

_John didn't smile back. He didn't like being duped. He didn't trust anyone, even mutants like himself, they were just as untrustworthy as everyone else. _

"_Can I smoke?" _

"_No." _

"_What time do I have to be in?" _

"_Ten thirty on school nights eleven thirty on weekends. In rooms by twelve on Friday and Saturday, eleven on weekdays." _

"_That's worse then prison." He complained. _

"_Can't leave a prison." _

"_How about my powers." _

"_What about them?" _

"_You gonna make me wear one of those collars?" _

_Scott looked confused, or as far as he could tell. "What are you talking about?" _

"_Neutralizes powers. They make we wear it at night, when nobody is watching me." _

"_Thats illegal." _

"_Tell them that." _

_So the collars really were illegal, so all those times he screamed about his rights being violated he'd been right. _

"_Do I get my own room?" _

_Scott responded from somewhere far away eyes slightly glazed. "Uh, no, you get a roommate." _

"_Shit," John frowned. "You're supposed to make this sound good." _

"_Why's that?" _

"_Because I won't look like such a pussy for going if you promise me something worth while." _

_Scott laughed. "John, shut up and come with me. Get out of his place, and come home." _

"_Not my home," He answered automatically. "But I'll keep my shit there, for now." _

_Scott smiled. "Good. We'll set it up, and you won't be wearing that collar anymore. I'll put a stop to that before I leave." _

_John shifted hand going to his head. His fingers stuck in the goop. He dropped them, limp at his sides they twitched. He felt a little awkward. The meeting hadn't gone how he wanted at all._

"_We'll back for you tomorrow." Scott got to his feet. "And John, tone down the cursing." _

_John smiled. "Don't hold your breath four eyes." _

"_Oh, thats original," he answered, "try a little harder next time." _

"_Don't worry," John answered, "I'll have one waiting for you." _

**0o0o0o0**

**Short stretching** oblivion rushed over John and he closed his eyes, his head falling back into the sand, warmth from the ever blowing wind and the roar of the raging bonfire soothing him more than the thick burning in the back of his throat. He could hear laughter and singing, the sizzle of wood as it lost what it once was to the licking flames and became nothing more than dull gray ash that blew away with the ocean winds. Never in his life had he had such a good idea, or so he had thought at the time.

They had stopped talking to him, lost in there own worlds and he had forgotten about them, too in tune with the ocean, the heat, the fire. His powers were roaring in his body pushing the fire higher hotter, and John was near shuddering in bliss with the raw power. It was only here he let himself touch it, the scary power, and the overwhelming sense of satisfaction, he never felt complete, not unless he was consumed by the flames and unfortunately it was only in this state that the fear was pushed far enough away that he was able to touch the raw energy without recoiling.

"John."

He barely heard the whisper of his own name, and he rolled away from it eyes focusing with an intensity that he shouldn't be able to obtain. The flames jumped and, with a wicked grin on his face, he tried to form a picture in the warring hues of red and orange and right near the center a white flecked with blue. He saw something there, a face, he focused, looking harder eyes blurring. The heat made the still pinked flesh of his scar sear.

"Damn! John back you ass up before you get fried!"

The voice broke his concentration, that was shaky at best, and the tight grip suddenly exerted on his arm dragged him away from the jumping fire and his mind broke contact with the raw power. As usual, apprehension rushed over him, and he felt goosebumps breaking out over his skin. He shivered despite the heat.

"Jackasses tossing shit in the fire, think it's funny to burn someone alive."

The hold on his arm loosened and John jerked away, pissed that he'd been pulled away, pissed more that he missed the burning power of his newly acquired powers. The ache started in his stomach and it heaved with the loss. His eyes crossed, his head swam, and in moments his stomach was empty and his throat was burning with something much more unpleasant than the liquor.

The voice burst into laughter. "Damn, I guess you don't want this beer then." He grabbed John's arm pulling him away from the fire, and inadvertently feeding his nausea.

John narrowed his eyes, it was hard, his head was roaring, and his stomach was threating him. He wished to hell and back that... He stared hard, trying to place the face of his tormentor, long dark hair, mismatched eyes, he swallowed against a wave of sickness, swallowing even when he was sure he should just open his mouth and let it come up again. He hated throwing up.

"Mike, you ass, I was fine until you hauled me up." John wasn't ready for Mike's steadying hand to suddenly disappear. He fell to his knees barely fighting nausea before he continued his fall. He sank backward until he was sprawled, head cradled in the damp but warm sand.

"I should have left ya there," Mike mocked and flopped into the sand beside him. Beer open, it sloshed over his wrist and he cursed, a string of colorful nonsense phrases that left John grinning at the absurdity of them.

John moaned. "I was fine," and he reached for the beer hand grasping when his mouth refused to work.

"If you think I'm gonna waste a good beer on your trashed ass you're crazy. You're just going to puke it all over the beach." Mike grinned and took another sip.

"Shut up Mike,and give me the damn beer before I light you on fire." John threatened though it was empty and Mike had no idea that John could actually do it, "and give me a cigarette I smoked my last."

"Threats don't make me real friendly," Mike countered, but passed the beer over and put the cigarette between his lips and clicked a lighter to life.

John watched the flame dance for a moment almost tempted to make it jump, but he squashed the urge and reached for the outstretched cigarette and the purple bic lighter. He took a swig of the beer and put the cigarette between his lips. The beer washed a little of the taste of bile from his mouth and sloshed his next swig around before spitting it into the sand.

"What did you get me up for anyway?" John groused. His world was still tilting, but it seemed the fire had a little to do with how drunk he felt. Away from it his thoughts, though still decidedly fuzzy, were clearer.

"Just wondering about that little brunette you brought with you."

John froze, frown forming immediately. "Rogue," he questioned keeping his tone light, "what the hell do you want with her."

"Her number," he replied and snatched the beer from John's hand and took a swig. "She was damn hot."

_'And damn dangerous,' _John thought. "Yeah well you should forget about her."

Mike was silent for a moment, "You with her."

John snorted, that was a complicated question, too complicated for him right now. So he answered the only way he knew how, without really giving an answer. "I live with her and this other guy."

"So she's with this other guy?"

"No." John took a drag and looked over his shoulder at the dying fire. He wanted to be back in front of it.

"She your sister?"

"No," he answered slowly mesmerized by the flames.

"You fucking her?"

John whirled around, too fast for his head, and slumped onto his bent knees his palm pressed between his eyes. The damn asshole was pissing him off, and that sucked he'd liked Mike. He really had.

"It's none of your fucking business," John cursed and opened his mouth as his ears clogged and his stomach suddenly turned violently.

"Shit," Mike apologized more with tone than words. "That's all you had to say, off limits, I got it. There's plenty out there."

John didn't really feel bad for the outburst. From what he knew about Mike he would have kept at it for hours and he really would have killed him then, or put him in the burn unit. John flicked the lighter to life and off again, missing his zippo, but Rogue had taken it when she'd stormed off earlier. His brain was too fuzzy to remember exactly why she'd left.

"That guy you brought here the other night, he the one you live with?"

John nodded and reached for the beer forgiving Mike because he was thirsty. The beer, lukewarm already, was in his hand in seconds and he downed the last of it, knowing despite the way his eyes refused to focus and the way his brain refused to remember that he was going to head back up the beach for more.

"That must suck, the girls were all over him last night, he left with Melissa." Mike sounded a little put out. "I've been after her all summer, and he walks up and says hello and she practically falls in bed with him."

_Practically, J_ohn wanted to say but he wasn't drunk enough for that, not yet, Remy had been gone all night, Rogue worrying about him and John didn't want to tell her what he knew the Cajun was up to, sweet tits, and long smooth legs.

"Shit." Mike cursed and John turned toward him confused. The man looked broken. What happened?

"You didn't have to be so blunt." He looked miserable, too miserable for a care free beach party.

John realized at that moment that he was too drunk, blurting out things he shouldn't have. He should quit, call Remy or Rogue, and go home.

"You think he's still seeing her?"

"She here?" John asked without really thinking.

Mike shook his head.

"Is Remy?"

"Who?"

"My friend," John rushed, "he here?"

Mike looked like he'd been slapped. "No."

John shrugged and flicked the remains of his cigarette across the beach, "Theres your answer."

"Damn."

John was sure that was Mike's favorite word. "Sucks to hell and back," John agreed.

"Lisa's not here."

John must have dozed off because the beginning of that statement was lost to him. The world was fogging, and strangely he wanted to go for a swim, feel cool water over his roaring skin, dull the heat, calm the burn. He almost got up, forgetting about Mike, until he spoke again.

"Lisa, man, Lisa is always with her, she's not here either! They're probably together."

John bit his lip to keep his thoughts, no longer just his own, from bursting out. It really wasn't likely but if it made Mike feel better, all the better. John had his own problems, the ocean calling, the fire calling at the same time, one stronger than the other, and he wasn't really sure which one was real.

"You want to get more beer?"

John stood swaying; eyes pulled from the ocean and back to the party. He lifted an arm and let out a drunken whoop and charged up the beach. He drowned the rest of the night in beer, until the world faded, but the fire, it burned dancing all night long even when his world was turning black in huge spots. He vaguely remembered sucking on a blond's neck, squeezing her tit and getting a playful slap before things rolled away and the roar of the fire and the call of the ocean left him to the darkness.

**0o0o0o0**

_**It was **__early. John could barely see the sun rising. He opened his eyes just as it crested the horizon, shining a stream right into his eyes. It was a good thing though, it was good that he was up first. He rolled onto his back breathing slowly._

"_John, Johnny?" _

_John jumped almost falling off the bed with the start, his chest tightening, but it was only his mother. She glided into the room smiling, eyes bright blue, shining. She crossed his small room, kneeling by his head. He reached his fingers out brushing them over the purple on her cheek, the black around her eye. He swallowed, close to tears, but he tried not to cry in front of her. He would be strong for her, hold her hand when she cried, but John, John would never let her see how afraid he was. _

"_Mom?" _

_She took his hand, her fingers, slender and soft engulfed his eight year old tips. She pulled them to her lips kissing them softly. "Johnny," she sniffed near tears, but he had seen her that way a thousand times. "Johnny do you want breakfast?" _

_They didn't usually have breakfast. His father was always sleeping it off in the living room, blocking him in on weekends unless his snuck out the window, and his Mom always had a shift. Had she lost her job? He hoped not. His father would go crazy. _

"_Johnny are you listening. I'm making pancakes, real ones from scratch and I bought strawberries." She squeezed his hand softly. "Your father's asleep in his room. Come on." _

_John grinned and jumped to his feet already quelling the 'whoop' building in his throat. He had never had real pancakes and his Dad hated strawberries. Now that he was awake he could see the batter, the cooking pan on the stove. _

_He helped her make them, pouring the batter, grinning, laughing quietly as they came out in funny shapes. He made a big one for his Mom. They ate together, smiling and laughing through mouths full of fruit and pancake. The syrup was hot and melted the butter when he poured it on top. He drank three glasses of orange juice, sure he was going to burst with pleasure by the second pancake. _

_His stomach was bulging slightly, full, he wasn't used to being full. His Mom was smiling, laughing at the joke he'd just told her. She had barely touched her big pancake. _

"_John, my St. John, you're a good boy." _

_He smiled, slowly. "I try." He whispered. _

"_John I'm going to ask you to do something, something quiet and quick, can you do that?" _

_He nodded, he could see something shining in her eyes, something great, something, he was sure, was going to change his life. _

"_Go to your room, get your..." She trailed off, eyes flying across the kitchen, falling on their bedroom door. _

_His father was moving, getting up. He was going to ruin their time. John frowned. _

"_I, I..." his Mom was still staring at the door her fingers gripping the fork so tightly they turned white. _

"_What?" He asked, suddenly afraid, more afraid than usual. _

_She looked at him again. Eyes so happy, so beautiful dulling. He wanted to touch her, hug her, but she was across the table and before he could move to do either she was on her feet. _

"_I have to go to work, John, Johnny, don't make your Father mad, okay, be quiet." _

_He nodded, but he knew this. It was the same every day. _

_She moved toward the door a large bag, one much bigger than her purse clutched in her hands. The bag confused him. He wanted to ask, but his Father stepped into the kitchen. He smelled like beer, rank and over powering. John shrank into his seat. _

"_What are you still doing here, bitch? It's time for work, get outta here!" _

_She paused, eyes on John. John didn't understand the look, but he was afraid, too afraid to move. Why did she have such a big bag? What had she wanted him to do? _

"_I love you, Johnny, St. John, be a good boy." _

"_Get outta here!"_

_His father yelled and threw the full glass of orange juice at his Mother. It smashed against the glass door and spilled orange all over the floor, but his Mother was gone, running down the steps. It was then he realized she didn't have her uniform on. _

_John's Dad grabbed his shoulder, squeezing sharply, "Clean that up!" _

_He wanted to run out the door, follow his Mom, plead with her, but he was afraid his Father would follow. He watched her car pull away from the curb and into the street. He told himself it was nothing, nothing at all, but she didn't come back that night, or the next day and John was left alone, his father raged, and found a new target to take his drunken rages out on._

**0o0o0o0**

"**John?" **

A toe nudged his ribs, and John rolled away from the contact vaguely aware of the way his face burned, and his head ached. The toe hit him again, harder. He tried to swat it away, but it was too hard to move and just thinking about it made his head open up. He was sure his brains were all over the beach.

"John!"

Too loud, he pushed his head into the sand ignoring the way the grit bit into his face. His head, oh his poor head. "Mike," he whispered, "man I can't drink anymore."

"St. John!"

The voice was shrill and feminine. He groaned, what was her name, Shirley, Meg, he couldn't remember. "Sugar," he settled, "sorry, what you need?" He reached out. Wasn't she right beside him? There was nothing there, just sand, dirt. He really needed to open his eyes, but the light hurt through his closed lids, he was afraid to open them.

Then there was nothing, no sound, no pushing and he willed himself to sleep. Later his head would stop pounding and he'd be able to get up, but not now. Now, he could barely function. He was nearly asleep, shadows dancing behind his eyes when he felt the first drip, cold like a tear rolling down his cheek, he brushed it away, falling faster into the darkness. He didn't feel the next, but the down pour forced his eyes wide.

He screeched, danced clumsily to his feet, and immediately put his hand to his temple groaning. His eyes were open and he was soaking wet. He shivered despite the sun on his back, glazed eyes focusing on the shadow to his side. He followed it up and frowned, venom settling on his tongue.

"Rogue, you bitch, what was that for?" He moaned after the outburst, regretting it.

Rogue didn't reply her hands clasped around the end of a bucket, fingers white, her face whiter. She really needed to get out, it was the beach for godssake, the summer. She was bundled up like it was the middle of winter, arms hidden in long sleeves.

"You're fired," she burst.

John was confused, and his head was pounding, gods how much did he drink. "What the hell are you babbling about?"

"Fired, John, again! You had work this morning, and," she paused something flashing over her face making her cheeks redden. He would have tried to read her mood, but he was hurting too bad and he was sure he was going to puke. "What were you doing all night, and why in the hell did you call me Sugar?"

"Thought you were someone else," John defended. "I'd never mistake you for anything resembling sugar."

Her mouth tightened, thinning to a straight line, her eyes flashed. "They called me this mornin' ta give me the message. You're out of a job, again, an' we have rent due."

"Get off my case," John burst. He really didn't need this, not now, not when he could hardly stand. "I got money comin' in, a check for this week and last."

"And another week or more where you don' do a thing!" she shouted, and John covered his ears.

"Shut up," he whispered, afraid that raising his voice would bring the vomit. "I'll get a new job alright. Just go the hell away."

She chucked the bucket at him. If he hadn't been so near sick he would have caught it, but it hit him in the side and knocked him to the sand. His eyes rolled his stomach heaved and he couldn't hold it back. The beer rushed up his throat and out his mouth splashing onto the sand, completely clear.

Rogue was next to him in an instant, hands cool and soothing rushing over his suddenly flaming cheeks. She brushed his hair back and he closed his eyes enjoying her touch, even though it was dulled by the cotton gloves covering her slender fingers.

"Ah waited," she whispered. "Ya didn' come home and neither did Remy."

She paused and John couldn't look at her, eyes fixed on the vomit. He waited until he was sure he wasn't going to puke again. He closed his eyes. Her fingers brushed his cheeks.

"Ah know ya'll have got your own lives, ah just..." she trailed off and got to her feet. "Ah'm going home alright. You comin'?"

He wanted to, to sink into his bed, to get off the beach, but he couldn't leave with her, hear her sad lecture, her sick concern. It just made him feel worse. He shook his head. "I'll catch a ride with Mike."

"Right," she backed away, feet scuffing the sand, and John turned to watch her. She never turned once to look at him eyes fixed ahead and John wondered what the hell she stuck around for. He sat there for a moment before forcing himself up again.

The sun was still harsh and he realized why he was so cool in the morning air. It was midday and his back, exposed to the sun, was blistered bright red. He touched his shoulder and cursed when a white spot appeared on the red. He was going to be sleeping on his stomach for a month.

He looked across the beach and was thankful it was private, or surely all of them would have been hauled in the night before, or even this morning, and all he needed was to be bailed out of jail. There were people scattered all over the beach, some entangled with others, all sleeping off a drunk and burning in the sun. He spotted Mike by the burnt out fire his hand draped over a sleeping girl's back.

John rubbed his hand over his face feeling stubble and yawned while pushing his hair down. It stuck straight up, refusing to go any other way. He made his way toward Mike. He nudged his friend with his foot, the way Rogue had done but more gently.

"Mike,"he whispered, "Mike."

His friend rolled away easier, eyes glazed and tired, but not a bit sick. John was suddenly jealous. "Dude, I need a ride home."

Mike grinned, "What about Tracy?"

That was her name, John thought. He hadn't even been close. "She bailed, give me a ride."

Mike rolled over and stood up, "Sure, you wanna stop for pancakes?"

John felt his stomach protest at the thought, "No way in hell."

Mike shrugged, and nudged the sleeping girl. He whispered something in her ear, and she rolled toward him for an instant planting a sloppy kiss on his mouth before drifting back to sleep.

"Over Melissa I see," he commented as they stepped over bodies and headed off the private beach toward the parking lot.

Mike yawned, arms raised over his head. He was red, as red as John, but he didn't seem to care. "Nothing to it, I'll give her a call later."

How easily Mike forgot his drunken sorrow. John slipped into the car arm cast over his eyes as the car sprung to life. He was sure he wouldn't make it a couple of times, but he was home without having to pull over once even though his stomach was protesting and his head was dancing. Maybe a little sleep would put it all right.

"You up for tonight?"

John paused, knowing he should just stay home, but the fire, he could feel it aching inside him begging to get out. He remembered the dancing flames, the face, and swallowed. There was something, something he was supposed to know hidden in the flames. "I'll call you."

"Sure thing." Mike answered and sped away, leaving John standing in front of the house he shared with Remy and Rogue.

**0o0o0o0**

_**There was**_ _nothing but ash and bright red embers that blinked in and out of existence. He watched them spark to life on a piece of wood. It looked like the leg to the couch, the old, stripped, ripped, piece of crap they'd had ever since he could remember, probably well over the twelve and a half years he'd been alive. The entire trailer, a place he had loathed, but it had been a place to sleep, sanctuary, was gone except for the couch leg. He'd hated that couch. The ember burst into a flame, it rushed over the couch leg burning white and suddenly it was ash too. _

_His father, his father had been in the trailer, sleeping off another night of binging. It was hard to comprehend. He should cry, he guessed. His father was dead. Burned to death by what must have been one of his own cigarettes. He should be sad. _

_His foot toed the edge of the black and gray ash. The debris rested on the toe of his sneaker. His fingers brushed the swollen blue on his cheek, wiped the still running blood from his bleeding nose. He hardly remembered the beating, recent for his nose to still be bleeding, that was causing the bruise and the ache in his ribs. It had to have happened that morning, before he left, before the fire. He didn't remember. His head swam unpleasantly and the burned remains swirled. Defensively, he closed his eyes trying to stop the dizzying spin. It didn't help much and before he could stop it he found himself on his knees retching into the grass. _

_He didn't remember eating anything, but there was plenty to come up. He retched again as the acidic, rotten smell rushed over him. He gagged. His nose ran, blood and snot running over his lips. He brushed the bile and blood from his mouth. Swallowing heavily, he looked to the wreckage again. He was still dry faced. There was no burst of relief or remorse, just a swimming pool of indifference. _

_His legs felt like rubber as he pulled them against his chest. He took a shuddering breath. He was alone. The morning air, full of smoke, rushed over him. It was warm, but he shuddered. His father was dead. Goosebumps broke out across his arms. He was alone. _

_He didn't know how long he sat and watched, but the sirens were what brought him back. They were loud, piercing enough to tear his eyes from the smoldering wreckage. Hands on his shoulders forced him to his feet, but he nearly collapsed his legs were asleep. He didn't feel like he'd stood in years. _

"_I just found him there." _

_He knew that voice. _

_Somebody pried a lip open forcing a light into his eye. He barely blinked against it. They repeated the action on his other eye. Fingers pressed against his throat, but he didn't see anybody, just blurs, just voices. _

"_I called to him, shook him but he didn't do anything. He just sat there." A sob. "His father, I think his father was in the trailer." _

_His father, his father was dead. _

"_He hit me." John whispered hardly aware that he was speaking. Somebody pulled his head around, pressed his bruise, he winced. Something wet wiped at his nose. Was he still bleeding? _

"_Kid, what happened?" A gruff voice broke through. _

"_He didn't mean to. I mean my Mom," his eyes were suddenly wet. "My Mom told me he didn't. She was going to take me away. She made me pancakes." _

"_He was always covered in bruises." _

_That familiar voice again. _

"_But I didn't, I mean I never suspected anything." _

"_You are?" The other voice, the gruffer one, asked. _

"_Anna Stinson. I live next door." _

"_She gave me cookies." He whispered his eyes trailing toward the voice. Things were blurring again. He looked away from her. Why was she there? His eyes strayed toward his house and a black haze rushed over him. "Was there a fire?" _

**0o0o0o0**

"**Hey." **

John leaned forward slamming the yellow notebook closed. He couldn't help the flush that rushed over his skin at the action. He stashed the book under the cushion of his porch chair coughing a bit; fidgeting to cover the action. His hands dived into his pockets for a cigarette. She hadn't said a word, probably knew what he was doing. Cigarette between his lips and fingers fumbling over his zippo, he said the first thing that came into his head.

"What the fuck do you want. You're always hovering, sneaking around and shit. You're way worse than the Cajun. Damn can't a guy get a moment alone." He hardly took a breath between each sentence and quickly inhaled his finally lit cigarette. The first rush into his lungs was smoke instead of much needed air, and he had to keep the cough from bursting out of his mouth. His cheeks bulged comically, and he was sure he turned even more red. He turned his head to the side to exhale and fought the gag that followed.

"Just saw you sitting out her alone..." She started not at all bothered by his outburst. She never was. He was finding it harder and harder to get her to go away, short of just asking and as direct as he'd always been it just seemed less fun for her to walk away instead of storm away.

The notebook was burning under him. He was sure she could read every page even from it's hidden location, afraid that she didn't need to, that she had already seen it. He looked over his shoulder, eyes falling on her face. She was smirking, leaning, all length and grace against the doorway. The way the girl could fill up a space it was a shame she couldn't be touched. She oozed with the want subconscious or not. She slid away from the door, hair bunching behind her head before falling around her shoulders. The arms crossed over her chest for warmth pushed her breasts upward. A sight anyone could appreciate. No wonder Mike wanted her.

"Can't you take a hint?" John asked, but he scooted to the end of the chair leaving room for her to sit with him. With only a moments hesitation she sat beside him, legs, long, and bare, dangerous, curled underneath her. It was only around them that she bared anything and most of the time it was just her hands. She'd been on shift and she always pulled the stockings off first when she stepped through the door tossing them onto the couch on her way to her room.

She shrugged. "Ah was wonderin' if you'd found them." She said and looked around him eyes on the corner of the notebook. "Which is it?"

John stiffened. She knew more than he'd figured. "The yellow one."

"Ah," she smiled, lazy, too knowing. He turned away. "The beginnings. Ah liked that one, but Ah didn't get much out of it."

"How'd you even know?" John burst, smoke escaping with his words. "I haven't thought about them in years."

"But you did," she answered her fingers going to her hair pulling the snarls out. "It's the first thing Ah saw when Ah touched ya."

How could he argue with that? Glowering, he pulled the book out. He shuffled it into his right hand, the cigarette into his mouth. He let it smoke, held in place with his wet lips against the paper filter. He didn't know what made him do it. Maybe he was idealistic, or just insane, to ever think he'd be a writer, but he had. The yellow book was full of his beginnings, the half formed notions of dreamed up tales, and short stories. It read like excepts from peoples lives. One day, one moment, one tragedy, one meaningless scene, a feeling, an event, all of them part of a whole that he'd never been able to create. How he used to love to get lost in the characters.

He didn't want to talk about it. He changed gears, something he was good at. "So you still pissed at me about the job?"

She shrugged and pulled her hair, already windswept and frizzing into curls around her face, into a ponytail. "No point, it's done." She sighed and turned toward him. She didn't say anything else mostly because it was bothering her. She was still mad.

"You gonna write in it again?" Her eyes were still on the book. Apparently he wasn't as good at misdirection as he thought.

"No." He didn't hesitate on his answer. He didn't want her to think he'd been considering it, had almost started reading when she walked out. He was kinda glad she'd stopped him. It was stupid, and there was no point in dwelling on it, getting lost. He had enough to think about. "Was all shit anyway."

She shook her head, strong denial. John took a drag, ashed over the deck. "It was. It was mostly shit. Just like to hear myself talk, or hear my own thoughts aloud, nothing but a narcissistic tendency. Worse than Remy and his grooming habits."

"It was good, the one about the boy and his father."

He didn't remember that one. Not that it mattered. He shrugged, got to his feet, book between his hands, closed, lost. "I'll go look for something tomorrow." His gaze raced across the beach. The sun was setting over the ocean.

"Ya stayin' home?"

The ocean was calling him again. So that was real. The ocean had a pull and the fire, he had always known that was real. He pulled the lighter out of his pocket and laid it against the notebook. The cover burst into flames and he pushed it over the book, keeping it from the pages for a moment as he watched it's hungry rush over the cover.

"John you idiot!" Rogue rushed at him swatting the book from his hands before he could pull it back. He raised a brow, but her focus was on the burning paper. He let the fire lick over the first page.

**0o0**

"_What's your_ _name?" _

_His grip tightened his eyes widening with each word. Molly clamped her own eyes shut, shutting herself away from his grip his stare, and his voice. She wanted to push him away but her hands were still too weak, and her head was swimming. _

"_Your name!" _

_It wasn't a question anymore, a demand, his tight fingers started to shake jarring her violently back and forth. Her head ached_

**0o0**

The rest of the words were lost in a blaze and then, instant black ash. It started on the second before Rogue was back, a cushion in her hand. She thrust it onto the burning paper. She'd gotten her shoes back. She stopped on the burning mess. John pushed the flames through the cushion. Rogue jumped back hands flying in front of her face as she yelped. All that was left was ash.

"Why?" She asked clearly confused. "Ya loved it."

John shrugged. "Not anymore. I'll be back later. I'm going out."

"With that burn out Mike?" She asked and ducked under his outstretched arm and stepped in front of him. "He's a loser."

John smiled, "And we're all winners here, Roguey?" His voice was anything but soothing, but it was her own fault for brining things up. He needed to get out more than ever. "You forget who your roommates are?"

She didn't cry, no, Rogue didn't cry anymore. She got pissed. Her hand balled into a fist at her side. Her face reddened, her lips thinned, her eyes dilated black consuming the green. He was so close. He stepped toward her pinning her against the pillar. Her anger soared. She hated her personal space invaded, but sometimes he hated her, so he stepped ever closer. Arms still at his sides, chest inches from hers, face further by a few inches.

"You're answer to everything is to be an asshole." She spat. Not backing down, even though he could tell she was uncomfortable with how close he was. She was never one to back down easy and, probably; she knew he would keep his distance as much for her sake as his own safety.

He smiled, tossed his cigarette off the porch. "Rogue."

She was still pissed. "What?"

"Get the fuck out of my way."

She moved faster than he would have thought and the punch hurt. John doubled over cradling his stomach. She stepped past him, around his once blocking stance and headed for the house.

"Ah hope ya get drunk and drown!" She called over her shoulder, the door slamming behind her.

John gasped, coughed, and wondered if he should be worried about internal injuries. He straightened, took a breath and walked down the stairs. He could breathe, no pain. Nothing broken, no damage. It was still early, but if he walked he'd get there just was the sun was setting, fuck staying home.

"You sure got a way wit de ladies." Remy sauntered up the porch coat, recovered and patched, over his shoulder. It greatly contrasted the holey jeans and nearly too snug blue t shirt. His feet were bare, like he'd just come in from a stroll instead of work. He worked days at a near by mechanics and every other night as a bouncer at the bar Rogue waitressed at. Tonight was his night off.

"Screw off," John mumbled.

"A way wit his amies as well," he continued. "You just an all around joy, non?"

"You're a dick."

"What got you in such a good mood?" It was an innocent enough inquiry but John was sure he already knew, or at been listening since the beginning of the conversation. Which meant he knew about the notebooks. That just pissed him off more. Instead of continuing he hopped down the stairs and started across the beach. Remy didn't follow and John was at least thankful for that.

**0o0o0o0**

"_**Mother Fucker!"**_ _John screamed. He grabbed hold of the computer chair and slammed it into the desk. The desk crumpled under the onslaught. The chair clanged. Wood splintered, pens carefully tucked into a can scattered, papers flew into the air, the computer hit the floor. He stopped for an instant, dropping the chair as he looked over the lap top, smashed into two pieces, the screen in one spot the key board in another. _

"_Son of a bitch." He mumbled his fingers were still shaking, he was till angry, but the laptop, that laptop was Bobby's. He dropped to his knees eyes scanning the damage. _Could he glue it? _The key board crumpled in his fingers. _That was unlikely.

"_Wow," the voice was surprisingly calm. Then again that was Bobby, he was always calm. "What happened in here?" _

_John got to his feet. It was too late to hide the evidence of his rage. It was obvious he'd destroyed their room, again. All he could say was at least this time he hadn't burned anything. He told Bobby. He merely raised a brow. _

"_Um, thanks," he responded, smirking. _

_John didn't appreciate the smirk or the laughter he was sure was coming. "Just back the fuck out Bobby." He said forcing himself to turn away, afraid that he'd take out his anger on his roommate. He looked out the window eyes searching for something to focus on. There was a large oak tree just outside the window, it's leaves just turning to red and orange were falling at an alarming rate, scattering across the slopping roof, flying through the air. He started to count them. Each swirling leaf had a number, every flying color was caught by his darting eyes. _

"_You want to get out of here?" _

_John pulled his eyes from the leaves, stunned out of his anger by the proposal. "What?" A leaf fell, he caught it's decent out of the corner of his eye, 46. _

"_Out of the mansion. You want to leave." _

"_We're under house arrest." John responded rather reasonably he thought, considering he was the one that usually started all the trouble. "Remember a little prank involving dye in somebody's shampoo bottle, and," he smiled because it was funny. Two more leaves fell, 48. "the back splash on Summer's khakis after the plastic wrap on the toilet seat." _

"_Yeah, they never did have any proof that it was us." Bobby countered. _

"_Except that the head master can read minds." John mumbled. Four more fell, another. What number was he on. "I'm gonna have to learn to block that." _

"_It would be helpful." _

"_Were do you want to go." He turned away from the outside world, blinked at the damage of the room. The fact that he'd done it swam over him slowly. He blinked, focused on Bobby. "Shit, I'm sorry." _

_Bobby shrugged. "Oh well, it's no big deal. Now I don't have to write that paper for Dr. Grey's class." _

"_Yeah." _

"_Lets just get out. We're figure out where to go later." Bobby answered the asked question. _

"_Okay." John stepped over the broken chair, the crumbling desk and followed Bobby out of the room. "How are we getting out?" _

"_Easy, I've found this vent, leads right to the garage." _

"_How about keys, one eye keeps them locked in his room." _

_Bobby held up a set of keys. "It helps to know a girl who can walk through walls." _

_John smiled. "Ah, knew Kitty was good for something." _

_They walked in silence toward the vent, sneaking around hallways, ducking into a closet one time to avoid Ororo. By time they got to the car John was feeling more like himself. The rage that had consumed him was dissipating quickly. He hardly recognized the feelings that had possessed him earlier. _

"_So," Bobby started the car. "You have another session with the Professor." _

_John rolled the window down, stuck his hand out the window and shot the mansion the finger as they rolled out the gate. He tried to be as nonchalant as possible. "Yeah." He lowered his hand and stuck his head out the window. Cool air rushed over his face. _

"_He is trying to help." Bobby said. _

_John was silent for a moment. "I'm sure." _

"_I mean, he just wants us to be able to live in the world like everyone else." _

"_I know." John picked at his seat belt contemplating whether or not he should put it on. "He just. I don't need him prying. Whatever it is he's trying to get me to remember, I figure, I mean..." He paused and dropped the seat belt, deciding against it. "If it pisses me off so bad to not remember. I mean when I just see the smallest bit of it...." he trailed off. He didn't want to talk about it anymore. "I'm getting better. Did you see that kick ass fireball I made in practice this morning. It was as big as you head," he turned to look at Bobby, "and damn thats pretty impressive." _

"_Shut up." Bobby groused. "You really should have warned me before you threw it." _

"_Just testing the ol' reflexes Bob-O." _

"_Yeah, you set my hair on fire." _

_John waved his hand in dismissal. "More importantly did you see the way Summer's eyes bugged out of his head when I did that? Priceless." _

**0o0o0o0**

**He wasn't** half way to the beach when Remy caught up to him. He had hoped he was going to be left alone and for a moment he wondered why he was being flagged down. He'd left Rogue in a state, and as unsure as they were in what caused her episodes, he wondered if that was the problem.

Tensed and ready for the worst he stopped. Guilt, unaccustomed and quick, rushed over over him. His hands went to his pockets.

"Trouble," he called unable to wait for the lumbering gate of the Cajun. The speed should have told him that there wasn't any trouble.

"Non," Remy reached his side, never hurrying. He stopped a few feet away. "So," he started, "you lost your job."

_Great another lecture._ He rolled his eyes and spun around. "Seriously, I've had this little talk, and I don't need it from you."

"Dis not about dat." He fell into step beside John. "Dis about another job, one you might be more inclined ta take."

John stopped for a moment. "Thought you were on the straight and narrow."

Remy shrugged, completely unrepentant. "Not exactly."

**0o0o0o0**

**Poor John he's confused and a little destructive, to himself anyway. I've got this all worked out, about his powers his place, his suppressed memories. Not to mention what's with Rogue's 'episodes' and what's Remy's new line of work about? It comes out in the sequel. Sorry this took so long to get out, but boy it didn't want to written quickly. So I hope you like. Tell me what you think. Rogue and Remy are coming up. **

**0o0o0o0**

**Ghostwriter: **Thank you so much for the review

**Pyrowhore: **Don't know if the ending was anywhere near perfect, but it's were it wanted to end. I'm glad you liked it! Thanks so much for the review. I means a lot to me to know if effected you at least in the way it effected me.

**tfobmy18: **Thanks so much!

**Ragdogtwo: **I couldn't leave it there permanently. I mean I promised Romy and there hasn't been nearly enough of that. Thank you!

**Hawiichick: **Thanks so much. I try to keep things in character. Thanks so much and there will be more Romy in the sequel and in the epilogues. Thanks!

**gaea3: **I tried to get that Rogue was starting to like Remy, just friends were now, but how long does that last. The epilogues are proving long but fun to write. Hopefully the next won't take as long. Thanks for the review and for reading!

**ChamberlinofMusic: **Thank you so much! I was trying to create a Rogue that I liked better than the one in movie. I just hated the way the last movie ended. I'm glad that you like her and the relationship between her, John, and Remy. I love them together and can't wait to write more about the three of them.

**lovestoread: **Thanks so much! I love the three of them together so much. It's hard for me to put them away too, hence the sequel. It means so much to me that you get sappy over the story! Hopefully you like the epilogues.

**Wanda W.: **Thank you, thank you, for the offer of a beta. I'll definitely take you up on that if you still want to. The story is still in the works though so it might be a while before I send you the story. The Bobby stuff is tied up pretty tight and Logan, I can't leave him out of the story. I love him. They have bonded on an odd level, but I try and make it work. Thanks for reading.

**ShadowFax999: **Thank you, and thank you for the review!

**LadyGambit: **Thank you so much. I love all three of the characters a lot. What you said about Rogue is exactly what I was trying to do. I'm glad I've seemed to achieved that balance on some level. You're also right about John, he does have 'the patience of a baby'. Ha, I loved that. Keep reading! Thanks for the feedback!


End file.
